


Out of Sight, Out of Mind

by WInger



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Boundaries, Character Study, Consequences, Epilogue, Love Story, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Post-War, Pregnancy, Reconciliation, Relationship Study, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, ex relationship, light humor, mild depression, working relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WInger/pseuds/WInger
Summary: One mistake at a party results in pregnancy. Adam’s immediate response is to up and leave, wanting to handle things entirely on his own. But his troublesome ex complicates matters by insisting on following him.---In the much simpler past – that was only five years ago – they were partner pilots in love, but Shiro’s disease cast a large shadow over their relationship. The break-up, followed immediately by his long and unexplained disappearance, left Adam guilty and haunted every single day by his absence. Now that the war is over, there’s a baby growing inside Adam’s body. All these years, and he’s never stopped being held hostage by this man. Not once.---





	1. Resignations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about re-establishing control in an estranged relationship, with mpreg as the connecting plot device.

When he finds out he’s already four months.

It’s not that he took so long to notice the lower abdominal swelling. It’s just that by that point his issue had gotten… largely unavoidable. There’s wasn’t much more leeway left in his Garrison uniform.

Immediately after getting the diagnosis from his doctor, he pours through his schedule of the last four months and quickly concludes that it was  _that_ party - where he'd had too much to drink, forgot all his inhibitions and then fell into his bed with his ex – that was the cause of this terrible, terrible condition now.

He’d regretted sleeping with Takashi Shirogane every single day in the ensuing two weeks. It wasn't just him - from that night till now they’ve only had the most minimal of interactions. When they randomly encountered the other in the workplace, the awkward tension was so powerful that neither knew how to diffuse or work through it… with the one exception of barreling through under the influence of alcohol, that is.

And now Adam’s pregnant. 

As though he needed another reason to regret that night.

With such a severe consequence suddenly weighing down on his shoulders, alone, even a person as normally calm and collected as Adam would be sent into a state of panic. He’s mad, confused and scared, but he's pushing all those feelings down for later. Right now he’s busy distracting himself. He uses this as an excuse to act on his itch to quit the Garrison, even though he doesn’t tell anyone about it and even forces his doctor to sign an NDA - not a single word was getting out. He does the remaining paperwork, packs all of his stuff and gets ready to leave in the next 18 hours. No goodbyes or farewell parties – maybe he'll send a few postcards afterwards. He needed to leave. Urgently. Before- before this thing got any bigger.

A look at his watch tells him that he’s as much as 4 hours ahead of plan. He’s ready never  _ever_  come back to this place, but he gets an unexpected knock on the door just as he’s giving his room one last check.

He checks his appearance for a good minute to verify that absolutely nothing is visible. On the inside he’s bracing in dread for the visitor to turn out to be  _that_ person.

It’s not, and he sighs in relief when he sees Coran standing alone outside his door, only to immediately feel tactless for being so transparent.

Coran asks to come inside for a chat. Adam welcomes him.

“I know what’s going on with you,” Coran begins, not beating around the bush. “I’m an Altean, we’re genetically wired to be perceptivetowards these things. I’m not here to question your choices or tell you what to do. I’m here only as a friend, to offer you my services and guidance, as well as all the information you may find yourself needing. Please don’t be afraid to reach out to me anytime, anywhere.”

The Altean is beyond generous, gifting him with several books and answering all the questions he had on hand (mostly “Why?” and “How?”) for almost two full hours. Adam is floored by his kindness. They were acquainted, but not close enough that he felt like he was deserving of such a massive favour. He says as much, to which Coran arches one eyebrow and simply states, with polite bluntness, “Well I  _have_  figured who the other father is.”

Adam thinks it says a lot about himself when the first thing he responds with is “Does he know?”

“I have not told him,” Coran says. “You have my word.”

He relaxes. “Thank you for coming to talk to me,” he tells him.

Coran wishes him luck and bids him farewell. Adam heads out, deep in thought. When he gets to the car park, he gets the shock of his life when he sees the very person he’d been avoiding sitting in the driver’s seat of his truck, dressed down in casual clothes and wearing a sunny smile on his face.

Shiro beats him to it before he could even get a word out. “Hey! I know you weren't expecting me, but the Garrison refused to rent me my own truck since my decision to retire was so sudden. They insisted that I shared the ride with you, since we're both leaving today. So uh, how about I drive you to your new place? My place is going to be pretty near yours.”  

It was a bizarre turn of events, almost too coincidental to be believed. Alas, both of them knew that despite his hesitation, Adam wasn’t about to say no and move all his belongings out or alter his departure to a later one. Like Shiro had said, the Garrison wasn't kind enough to spare him another truck.

It wasn't the most ideal, but time was of the essence to him, and since he's got two layers of jackets on... He's confident enough. He gets into the passenger side, eyeballing his clothes to make sure that once again  _nothing_ was visible. 

Shiro turns on the radio and soft rock fills the vehicle. They settle in for a four-hour long car ride to their new homes, leaving the Garrison behind in the dust and mountains. 

Though it turns into a six hour one, due to the frequency in which Adam requested a bathroom break. He was, for the first time in his life, car sick, and was hot and bothered in spite of rolling down his window and shedding his outer jacket layer. His stomach was acting up, seemingly determined to make certain of two things – that Adam was as uncomfortable as his behaviour looked suspicious in Shiro's eyes. 

Shiro kept asking if he was okay. He could only hope that his food poisoning excuse wasn’t wearing too thin. What self-respecting pilot would admit to motion sickness? 

It’s eight, by the time they get to Adam’s new home. It’s two-stories and spacious, tastefully decorated; living area and study on the first floor, bedroom and guest room on the upper floor; toilets on both. Naturally, the piece of furniture Adam gets acquainted with first is the toilet bowl on the first floor by the kitchen.

“Do you want any food?” Shiro asks, expressing a polite amount of concern from a distance, pausing in his act of bringing in Adam’s belongings from the truck.

“No,” he answers, and pushes himself to fetch his own stuff, waving off Shiro’s “I’ll do it”. He loathed the idea of his body’s shenanigans holding him back from ordinary tasks. Shiro continues to help anyway. 

By 9.30, they’ve got everything down and out (in-between Adam leaves to puke once more). He looks at the clock, at Shiro loitering around the kitchen area, and asks him how far his house was from here.

“Yeah about that,” Shiro looks grim. “I got a call while you were in the toilet. They told me they’d gotten the date wrong. It's not going to be ready until tomorrow night.”

That sounded like a shabby excuse to Adam, but he’s decent enough a person not to frown too hard, especially given the amount of favors Shiro’s done for him today. “Don’t worry about it,” he assures, burying his discomfort under a layer of colleague hospitality. “You can crash in the guest room.”

Shiro beams. Adam smiles back, a little tightly. Then he goes upstairs to sleep, exhausted from the whirlwind that had been the last 24 hours.

Early next afternoon Adam tries on six different shirts before finally settling on pulling a hoodie as well. Every top he had only seemed to emphasize what he wished to conceal. Loose-fit clothing had never been his thing, and he never once thought there would come a day where he would yearn for them. And for such a reason, no less. He felt disappointed at how his life had turned out.

“Are you feeling better?” Shiro asks, when he reaches downstairs. There’re fresh groceries on the table, including a carton of milk. Another favor. Adam’s got to pay him back.

Shiro waves his money away and says “Hang on to that. I’ve got some bad news. Your fridge is faulty.”

Adam stares at the accused fridge in surprise.

Shiro continues. “I called the repairman. We got into an argument because they claimed that their coverage didn’t extend to this area, saying that it’s too far out from their base operations, that they still don’t have the infrastructure in place, so soon after the war and all, whatever. But that’s beside the point. I’m a pretty good handyman. Give me two days and I’ll fix this up for you in no time.”

Adam shifts his look of incredulity onto Shiro. Then he opens the door to his fridge, just to check. No lights, no cool air.

He couldn’t argue with anything Shiro had said. At the very least, even if the repairman’s behaviour seemed a little ridiculous, the part about being a good handyman was true. He was nice enough to leave out the fact that Adam was a pretty terrible handyman himself. But then again these were things that the both of them had known for years.

“Thank you,” Adam says, not seeing what else he could do but accept. 

For the next few hours, Shiro leaves to transport his items to his own place. Adam unpacks his own boxes and checks out his new house. Its best feature was the great floor to ceiling windows on both floors, affording a generous view of the caramel sand and a sparkling blue sea in the distance. Looking out was deeply relaxing. 

The Garrison, and all that it had symbolized, was out of sight and practically out of mind. Out on the other side of the desert, there was almost nothing to stop Adam from finding a semblance of post-war peace.

Almost.

He glimpses his own reflection in the windows and turns away almost immediately, unhappy with how he was in a hoodie for no other reason than he was no longer comfortable in his own skin.

He might fool Shiro, but he couldn't lie to himself. He’d staved off processing his own mess of thoughts and feelings for long enough. Have it? Abort? Do it all alone? Tell Shiro? As things were, Adam couldn’t even bring himself to touch his abdomen area. In fact, forget it - he’s still not ready. He'll distract himself next by reading Coran’s books. Those will really help. But first he’ll have wrap the covers in old papers so that Shiro wouldn't catch on. 

The first book congratulates him and tells him to look forward to movements coming from his stomach very soon. Movement that would only get stronger in the succeeding months. It’s an informative, well-written book, but he didn’t share the enthusiasm of its authors. He reads it on the sofa until sundown, when the doorbell rings and he jumps, only then remembering that Shiro was coming back for his fridge. He hides the book in his room before coming back down to get him.

Shiro works late into the night, and Adam tells him to sleep over and continue the following day.

After a full 48 hours, his work is done and Adam has a working fridge again. But a new technical problem occurs almost immediately. When he offered to wash Shiro’s clothes they discovered that his washing machine was also faulty. That took almost a week to fix – unhelpful repairman again, Shiro working practically on his own, Adam only good for passing him tools and food and water. Shiro even brought several sets of his own clothes over, just so that he could be “more efficient”. They were too awkward to share clothes – in the past the two of them used to have one wardrobe – and anyhow Shiro’s slightly bigger than him, and Adam wasn't willing to give up what little baggy clothing he had on hand.

Two days after that’s done one of the stoves stopped working. That took a day to fix. Shiro slept over again.

And a day after that the TV was down. That wasn’t urgent, but it took a full week as well because the stormy weather made it impossible for Shiro to drive out to town and get the equipment he needed.

After that it was the shower on the first floor. Then the sink. The electricity of the whole house short circuited during a thunderstorm. And after all that, the air-con in the guest room that Shiro spent more time in over his actual house broke down.

“I’ll fix that too,” Shiro says, his optimism never once wavering.

Adam is wondering if it’s time to pen a letter of complaint to the Garrison. At the same time he had his doubts that anyone could be so unlucky with a new house. If these problems were fabricated, or artificially induced, he didn’t have to look very far for a culprit with a pretty obvious motive on hand.

That would entail that  _he knew,_ obviously. But how? 

He helps Shiro bring pillows and blankets to the sofa downstairs. When they're done Adam stands by one of the glass windows, next to the bookshelf, looking out at the wide expanse of the quiet, moonlit desert.  

To his credit, Shiro is good at the game, even now that he’s so near his goal. He respects Adam’s wishes for physical boundaries and stands next to him quietly. There’s more than an arm’s length of space between the two of them.  

It was a view to be cherished. In the chaos of the last half a decade, there had been many things they’d both come close to losing, and this planet had been one of them. It was incredible, how quickly Mother Nature was bouncing back. 

They could stare out at the desert without saying a word to each other for as long as the entire night. If Adam wanted to stretch this out, all Shiro had to do was play along. Time was on his side, after all.  

He looks down. It’s obvious. Even his hoodie wasn't much good for hiding anything anymore – it fell over the curve of his abdomen and practically outlined it. It’d grown, and Adam, as part of his ongoing denial, hadn’t bothered to get larger clothing, still forcing his old clothes on despite the increased difficulties he was having with them. 

He unzips his hoodie and pulls up his shirt. It doesn’t even slide back down.

His stomach resembled a balloon _._  Just large. He never took the time to stare at it, and now that he’s face-to-face, he realizes it doesn't look like what he’d always imagined. Rather than a ball-ish shape, a large part of his mid to lower abdomen was inflated, and a little unevenly at that – there was a small but peculiar looking bulge sticking out in the dead center.

He can feel the intensity of Shiro’s gaze, now that it was out in the open and he no longer had to steal glances from hidden corners. His belly rises and falls gradually, in time with his breathing.

As though all the attention wasn’t enough it kicks him. The movement was imperceptible on the skin surface, but uncomfortable enough on the inside. Adam makes a small sound of discomfort.

He's about to confront the elephant in the room head on, but even still, Adam couldn't bring himself to touch _it_. He avoided rubbing soap across his entire abdomen while showering. When he dressed yanked his tops down in one fluid motion, though recently he’s been wondering if his movements were too sharp for the delicate nature of his condition - before then wondering how much he should even really care.

Soon enough, Shiro cracks. “Adam…” His left hand is raised and hovering uncertainly in mid-air.  

Adam stares at his hand, loathing that it was a question. Whatever response he could make would involve acknowledging the existence of this thing as _Shiro’s_ baby, when that’s a big mental block he’s still struggling to get over.

In his hesitation, and apparent choice to not do anything, he relinquishes control back to Shiro, whose hand closes the distance at a glacial pace, cautious of Adam reacting negatively.

His hand is warm when he places it over Adam’s belly button.  

It kicks its hardest yet. Adam lets out another displeased groan. It emboldens Shiro to rub his hand over Adam’s skin. 

“What are you going to do?” Shiro asks, voice hoarse. “Adam?”

“Who told you?” he asks instead, wondering if Coran had lied to him. 

“No one. After the party I… I started paying closer attention. I didn’t know where we stood on things. You seemed keen on avoiding me, and then you got pretty sick for a while. And then I noticed that Coran took an interest… and then I saw you visiting the doctor, and heard from Iverson that you were retiring. I didn’t know, not really. Until we drove out and I started to notice more things. I tried to ask Coran but he wouldn’t spill. This isn’t…” He halts his movements. “I’ve been through so much. This isn’t something that I could  _ever_  have imagined happening.”

Adam's shirt falls back down. He’s grateful that it’s hidden again, but it kicks a third time to remind him of its presence.

“What do  _you_ want?” Adam demands, after a beat of silence.

Shiro - his hand still on him - sends him an imploring look. “I wanted to talk about us.”

Adam waits.

“I’ll like for you to have the baby,” he admits, after another pause.

“It is  _yours_ ,” Adam replies. Shiro doesn’t say anything to that. It’s still Adam’s turn to speak.  

But what  _can_ he say? All the thoughts bubbling around in his head were accusatory. He has a long list of grievances to go through. This _thing_ wasn’t even near the top of it.

He doesn’t know what Shiro sees on his face in that moment, but it gets him to moves his hand over to Adam’s chin as he kisses him.

And Adam lets him.

In the heat of the moment, Shiro’s right hand comes over and slips under his shirt. That’s when the touch of cold metal – malleable and sensitive like a human hand, but not quite – knocks him out of foolish sentimentality. Adam pulls away and grabs his wrist to prevent it from moving.

“Adam,” Shiro almost whines. His voice is sad and his face is too close. The increased activity inside his stomach was a clear reminder to him that he shouldn’t let himself get carried away by old passion – look what came out of the last time he did.

“I don’t know,” he admits, responding to Shiro’s earlier question. He felt helpless. He detested that feeling, but it was a common thing to experience when you’re the position of this particular person’s lover – or ex-lover, now impregnated. “Your disease, our relationship,” he says, referring to the much simpler past – that was only five years ago – when they had only been two partner pilots, ordinary, but beset by the inevitability of a terminal illness. “Your voice over my words.” The break-up, followed by years of his unexplained disappearance, where Adam lived every single day guilty in his absence. “Your decisions over mine.” And now - “Your baby-“ he cuts himself off. _Inside my body._ He couldn’t finish it. Shiro seemed to get it – or didn’t he? _I’ve been held hostage by you all this time,_ he wanted to shout, holding back his tongue with effort. All of that had been love, at past points in time. It was love, until it stopped being love.

And forgiveness – full forgiveness, hypothetically speaking – was one thing; it was what came after that was tricky. Reconciliation between two individuals who had been at ideological odds _before_  years of traumatic war experiences seemed like an impossibly tall order. The old familiarity that sometimes surfaced between them always felt sorely out of touch with times, much like how that short-lived kiss had been. And all of that was complicated enough without even considering the new variable that had sprung up in the tatters of their relationship.

Shiro was obviously of the opinion that he didn’t mind as much. If he seemed marginally more inclined towards getting back together, then Adam was comparatively more interested in remaining their separate ways.

He felt like he had a belly full of fire as he tells Shiro, “Have you considered that we don’t love each other anymore?”

When Adam spits ice – as colleagues and students in the Garrison sometimes described of him – Shiro is the only person in the world who doesn’t immediately recoil away. Not visibly, at least. But when you’re as close as Adam is to him, you see the spark of pain flaring behind his eyes.

“I have,” Shiro says, his voice thick. Reflected in the glass he could see Shiro’s right hand close into a fist. If his arm wasn’t mechanical he would have been able to feel for himself the tendons in his wrist tightening – the way Adam’s whole body felt now, wound up like a wild animal about to bite.

“But I owe you,” he continues. “When we promised each other our love, when you were convincing me to stay… I wanted those things too. But I couldn’t then. I couldn't bear being so selfish to you... And I couldn't bear what would eventually happen to me. But things have changed so much since then. I have a new lease on life because that damned disease is gone, Adam. _All_ gone. I can live now – I _want_ to live. And I know I owe you as much to at least try and live this life out with you.”

Adam breathes shallowly. He felt light-headed from all this talk of pasts and futures and what-ifs and promises, and he sat down heavily on the sofa. Even after so many years, that topic never failed to make his blood boil in less than a minute - even if their stances were now reversed. “Just say you’re doing it for the baby,” he mutters, still angry, still disbelieving.

“You know that’s not true,” Shiro coaxes, coming to join him on the sofa.

“What if I wasn’t _like this_?” he snaps.   

“I’ll be here. And your stuff will still be breaking down every other day,” Shiro verifies. 

That almost gets Adam to laugh. But compromise wasn't going to come so easily to Shiro. He had plenty of his own arguments to make - as he had in the past. 

But presently he's finding it difficult to get even a word out. As though his stomach is aware that they were discussing its hypothetical absence, he feels a powerful, tightening feeling from within, deep and unnerving.

Shiro’s still talking, but Adam is fully distracted by the sudden developments in his body and wasn't listening.

He moves a hand to touch his stomach intentionally for the first time in five months. His hand is shaking, and it’s not just the apprehension or his mental gymnastics. It’s the pain, too.

There’s another wave of pain from inside him, worse than before, and he’s so tense and rigid that he bends forward stiffly, wrapping both arms around his abdomen.

His vision tunnels. He feels a hand on his back and another over his arms. He has enough awareness to know that he’s being held tightly against Shiro’s body, even though he’s too overwhelmed at present to give a reaction. Shiro’s right hand slips over his stomach.

“Adam,” he hears, loud and clear all of a sudden. “I’m going to call the ambulance.”

“Don’t move,” he orders Shiro, who freezes immediately. “Your hand. _Don’t move_.”

A change was being affected to him through his stomach. He doesn't know the logic behind it, but when a single hand placed over him was enough to kill the twisting feeling deep in his guts, he paid attention. 

“You’re scaring me,” Shiro whispers, but he understands. He pulls up Adam's shirt and sinks his hand into his flesh, pushing gently against the mass of organic tissue inside.

And slowly, Adam’s vision clears and the pain lessens considerably. Now it was a much duller, but otherwise consistent ache. Like two puzzle pieces, their bodies were locked tightly together, Adam resting on Shiro resting on the sofa, his stomach between their hands and his torso.

It was admittedly comfortable, and his head felt heavy and sleepy. “Let’s get you upstairs,” Shiro says, after several long minutes.

He lets Shiro take care of him. They make their way slow and carefully, pass the sofa and up the flight of stairs. His level of pain and fatigue didn't change, and there was no perceivable movement from within. Adam can’t think right now if he should be worried or relieved at what that might entail.

He falls asleep on the bed as Shiro looks over him, his right hand not once leaving his body.

His last thought was that even if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted Shiro to leave or stay, it wasn't really his choice to make anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think in general Adam would have pretty good humor. But once you cross him, his anger will be something like the burning sensation one gets from touching ice for long. Hot like ice. 
> 
> They're not exactly related (but it could be), but if you'll like to read more about why Adam holds general animosity towards the Garrison, I've written another fic called [Ghost of Shells](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705153) that explored that. 
> 
> This was originally intended to end ambiguously around here but I couldn't resist fleshing them both out in greater detail. I'm still writing but I don't have a solid conclusion in mind yet. Comments will be highly appreciated!


	2. Push and Pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two – three – of them continue to frustrate one another.
> 
> \---
> 
> Like earlier in the day, Shiro pulls his clothes open habitually, while Adam goes on with feigning ignorance.
> 
> “Can I,” Shiro asks, after a bit of dead silence. “Kiss my baby?”
> 
> \---

He wakes up the next morning to the feeling of strange sensations taking place over his mid-section. Worry floods his mind and he immediately tries to push himself up for a look.

“Oh! Good morning!”

He can’t see very well yet, but that voice was unmistakably Coran’s.

Adam reaches for his glasses and puts them on his face.

The sight of Coran, sitting by the bed and using a device to push cold gel over his stomach comes into clarity. It’s an ultrasound scan. He’s hit by a wave of embarrassment and suddenly wished that he hadn’t worn his glasses so quickly – or at all, even.

“Glad that you can join us now, Adam. Everything is mostly fine. The baby is in good health! Remember our conversation a month ago about how Altean males consciously modify their bodies in other to prepare themselves to carry a fetus? Well, you’re in luck! The precious crystal contained in your partner’s right arm has altered yours! Very minutely, it seems, and as your doctor I’ll have to enforce more direct contact from here on out, especially if you’re intending to keep the baby. Think of it as a magical physiotherapy, a means to adapt your body in order to successfully withstand the even more dramatic changes that are forthcoming!”

Coran droned on. Adam had been following along well enough until he heard  _a_   _means to adapt your body in order to successfully withstand the even more dramatic changes that are forthcoming,_ at which point he blanked out. 

“-halfway through your pregnancy! The baby can hear you now, by the way. Would you like to know its gender?”

He’s so troubled by the implications that Adam doesn’t manage to croak out his “No” before Shiro gives his “Yes”.

“Very well!” Coran beckons Shiro over and whispers into his ear.

Adam feels awkward and deeply unsettled.

Shiro leans away with a nod. Coran gets up and hands the device over to him. “My time here is up. I’ll leave this machine with you. It’s extremely useful, you can even use it to check up the other parts of your body!”

“Thank you, Coran. I’ll walk you-“

“Don’t bother. Look after him.” Coran takes his bag and coat. “Call me whenever you need to. And oh yes – Curtis sends his regards. Maybe you could reply to his email some time?”

“ _Thank you_ , Coran,” Shiro says, more strained this time.

The two of them exit the room – Shiro insisting on sending him off anyway – leaving Adam alone on the bed with a whole lot of goo on his stomach. He sighs, takes a bunch of tissues and wipes himself clean.  

As per the doctor’s strict advice, Adam together with Shiro take the next two weeks as slow and easy as possible. Shiro completely moves into his guest room. The conversation from before, alongside any and all animosity, was put on hold. Because Adam felt fatigued most of the time, he was fine with letting things hang in limbo for now – in addition to ignoring the glaring fact of how procrastinating on a growing fetus will only making whatever inevitable consequence more dangerous for him to bear.

True to Coran’s books, his stomach was now growing at what seemed and felt like an exponential rate. Each morning the process of finding clothing that fit proved increasingly tedious. It wasn’t just the aesthetics of a fabric stretched to its limit that he was scrutinizing – his ability to move and breathe were by far the bigger concern. By this point, he could no longer tolerate forcing any of his old shirts on, and equally loathed the idea of pulling on thick sweatshirts for a weather that was still too hot for fall/winter clothing.

In the end, he went with pulling a bathrobe over his loosest (now tightest) pair of shorts, finding that to be the lesser evil as compared to borrowing shirts from Shiro.

He heads into the kitchen for breakfast. There was only him in the house, and Shiro only returns from his jog when Adam’s almost finished his pancakes. “Hey,” he greets, pulling out his earphones. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“The usual,” Adam replies, which means tolerable.

“Good to know,” Shiro smiles and heads off to shower.

All their conversations were this cordial, exactly like their normal back at the Garrison. The only difference was the additional layer of doctor mandated physical intimacy, as Shiro would rub skin soothing cream from Coran onto his stomach twice a day. While those times were trying on his patience, they were physically rather comfortable. It _did_ reduce the ache that, if otherwise unchecked, would spread from a point deep in his lower belly to all over the rest of his body – and he always felt more energetic afterwards. In this new status quo, Adam returns the favor by cooking a portion for Shiro in every meal without being asked to.

This had all arisen out of necessity, but now that two weeks were up, it was time to reopen serious dialogue over what to do about this whole situation. The mere thought of it pulls a sigh from his lips.  

He’s only just re-seated himself back at the table with a fresh plate of pancakes for Shiro when he hears him coming up from behind. Wordlessly, Shiro’s arms slip around his waist and pulls his bathrobe wide open. Adam stills.

He hears the cap of the bottle flip opened. With a generous amount on his palms, Shiro slowly begins massaging the cream onto his stomach.

Adam exhales deeply through his nostrils, adjusting to the physical touch. Sometimes he felt ticklish, but always he felt awkward. These sessions had come to feel like intensely private moments between Shiro and _his_ baby, and even though this had become routine, Adam always managed to feel embarrass, like he was intruding on some quality father-child bonding moment.

And on that matter, sitting completely still for anywhere between fifteen to forty-five minutes while being subjected to sensual, skin-on-skin contact was a pretty tall order. It’s hard to pretend to be invisible with so much going on, and furthermore Shiro’s been making it a point recently to chat with him as they do this. “Bathrobe?” he asks conversationally.

“I’m all out of shirts,” Adam replies, also politely.

“I’ll give you mine,” Shiro offers. It’s clever phrasing. This way he completely bypassed the whole bit that would have involved Adam coming up with all sorts of excuses to turn him down _._

At times like this, when he feels stuck between a rock and a hard place – literally – he wonders if the pregnancy might have any part to blame for all the overthinking in his head. Really, could wearing Shiro’s shirts be any more intimate than what was going on right now? With their heights, Shiro’s chin is practically on Adam’s head. With the width of his stomach, his back is basically pressed against Shiro’s chest.

“Sore joints?”

“… Hips and pelvis.”

Shiro hums. He finishes all the cream and pulls Adam’s robe further open. The ribbon comes undone, fully exposing his body. He’s noticed that happening with greater frequency, and hadn’t yet been able to pinpoint if this was another one of Shiro’s deliberate moves, or a natural consequence of his expanding abdomen. With more cream, Shiro makes to rub the underside of his stomach, slipping his other hand into his waistband to lower his shorts.

It’s an awkward reach, given that Adam is sitting.

“Lean back on me,” Shiro instructs, voice soft and heavy.

Adam does so, with robotic caution. Shiro’s chin comes near the right side of his forehead as he sinks his hands into Adam’s hip bones.

He lets his eyelids fall shut.

It’s like they were inside a bubble of silence, peace and pleasure, with Shiro’s slow, consistent motions transmitting deeply beneath his skin.

As always, the we're-colleagues-only pretense falls away in moments like this.

On occasion when Shiro put more pressure into his palms, his insides reacts and pushes back out. He took that as a sign of encouragement and directed attention to those parts more often.

When his hands move to his hips, the massage pattern changes into a V shape, his palms running across the sides of Adam’s stomach before meeting in the center, directly above his crotch.

Adam’s sensitive – _and_ that’s a sensitive area. He gets a feeling in the back of his mind that maybe it’s time he be more concerned about the way his body is being… deliberately simulated.

And then mercifully, Shiro slows his actions to a stop. His hands stay on Adam’s stomach, one above the other, pressing, feeling. Unmoving.

Then they move, and he feels Shiro lift his body without warning, his mobile arm going under Adam’s knees. Adam’s eyes fly open, shocked out of his trance.

“What…” he starts, but Shiro’s only carrying him to the sofa, placing him against the cushions. “All done,” he murmurs, which was what he always said at the end of these massages. Like some sort of cue. The bubble has popped and Adam is 100% aware and fully conscious of his every thought again.

Shiro’s arm fetches his plate of pancakes over as he sits next to Adam, letting him fuss over his robe without judgment. His actions speak loudly, and he knows that everything Shiro had been striving to prove this past two weeks – hell, this whole month and half – was that Adam can let his guard down and be perfectly true to himself when he was with him.

Adam would love to. But that side of him is hardly his most pleasant.

“Let’s talk.”

Shiro nods, and gives his right arm over to Adam’s stomach. Coran had advised they do this the whenever they needed to do anything that could potentially cause “emotional agitation”. His right hand peels open the layers he’d just fixed to get to his skin, splaying wide like a starfish. Looking at his mechanical hand, Adam wonders, not for the first time, if it was possible to do the pain controlling thing indirectly, such as above his clothing – and remotely, without any need for the rest of Shiro.  

“Have the baby,” Shiro says, filling the silence in place of him.

“Why?” he challenges, non-confrontational – not yet.

“Because it’s life.” Adam knows. He agrees, but-

“It’s a huge toll for my body.” Coran’s words, not his.

“I’ll be here,” Shiro promises, not for the first time either. “Every step of the way.”

Adam looks at him out of his peripheral, and thinks about if it’ll ever be possible for him to emotionally detach so absolutely from this that he’ll be able to see himself as nothing more or less than a surrogate carrier for this child of Shiro’s. “It’s yours,” he hears himself say, a repeat of his words from before. It seemed like words to end a conversation and Shiro goes mute, predictably, not having come up with any better response to that in the past fourteen days.

“How’s Curtis?” he asks, prompting the conversation to change direction.

“Doing well,” is the reply. He sounds disarmed.

“He’s relatively new, you know. He only joined the Garrison two years ago.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“He’s interested in you.” Shiro winces, on cue. Only Adam’s not finished yet. “He came to me to learn more about you, during your absence, as well as after your return with Voltron.”

He pauses deliberately before wrapping with “I gave him my blessings.”

“… Why?” He can hear the unspoken ‘ _I figured’_ in his voice.

“I wanted you gone,” Adam affirms, rubbing his eyebrows and sighing. _I wanted to move on._

Shiro doesn't say anything for a long time, chewing on his pancakes. He can’t quite tell from his side profile, but he might be angry.

Adam’s pretty calm, himself. He’s resigned from almost everything, after all.

“I turned him down,” Shiro gets out at last. “Before all of this even happened.”

He _is_ angry. The quality of his voice was jogging memories of old fights they’d had a long, long time ago.

“Is this better?” He challenges, now confrontational.

But instead the both of them get distracted. Out of the blue his stomach joins in on the conversation, a knob of pressure jutting out and pulling a diagonal line across Shiro’s palm.

It robs the both of them from saying anything further. Adam makes eye contact entirely on accident. Shiro’s eyes were intense and almost seemed to be holding _him_ accountable – he couldn’t bear it but he felt frozen in them, an animal being stared down by its predator.

“ _Yes._ ” Shiro’s voice is an awed whisper. But his face was pulled in a serious frown, and Adam’s eyes and mouth were tight. Both were well aware that the other wasn’t on the same page as they themselves respectively.

The conversation ends with Adam turning away and Shiro then leaving him alone on the sofa, the both of them simmering internally with all the unspoken thoughts in the world.

* * *

 

The cold shoulder only lasted until nightfall, when the time came for Shiro to drop by for the regularly scheduled massages. He announced his arrival with a knock and put a pile of his own shirts on Adam’s dresser.

Adam is in a sweatshirt usually reserved for winter, with the air conditioner turned down low. He’s re-reading Coran’s books, hoping the more he did the more comfortably the contents would sit with him. He shifts his position slightly to better accommodate what Shiro was about to do, but otherwise doesn't greet him.

Like earlier in the day, Shiro pulls his clothes open habitually, while Adam goes on with feigning ignorance.

“Can I,” Shiro asks, after a bit of dead silence. “Kiss my baby?”

Adam peers out over the top of his book. So this is how his words are going to haunt him.

“Do as you please,” he answers, a lot more game than he truly felt.

The first one felt innocent enough. Adam chose not to look, but he was on an edge in anticipation, and then congratulated his self-control when he managed to suppress a twitch at the sensation of cool, soft lips against skin.

Obviously a single peck wasn’t going to be satisfactory enough. Shiro’s lips lingered more and more with each kiss, all while his hands roamed thoughtlessly, making continuous circles. It was – too distracting.  

Abruptly there’s a pause of sensations. Then he felt the pressure on his mattress changing, and knew that Shiro must have gotten himself into a more comfortable position on his bed.

He should have said something then.

His hands and lips come back to him, more confident than before. He kissed, long and deep, multiple times over the middle while his hands rubbed the sides of Adam’s stomach, his right hand slipping repeatedly beneath the waistband of his shorts.

Dipping lower and lower each time.

Holding Adam’s stomach in his hands, Shiro fixates on his bellybutton.

Tongue out, digging at the protrusion that used to be concave.

Adam shivers unwittingly, self-control slowly slipping from his death grip on the sheets.

Shiro opens his mouth wide, using more tongue, the hot breath in his throat tickling Adam’s nerves. He successfully keeps down anything louder than his normal breath from escaping, but the toes of his feet curl and the muscles in his thighs tense up… and don’t unwind.

Shiro devours all over his stomach with increased intensity, his hands now barely keeping up the illusion of the routine massages – his left arm was rested on the bottom of Adam’s ribcage. Keeping him down? His stomach kicks restlessly.

Shiro moves his mouth to the top half of his stomach, and pushes his belly button inwards with a finger. Adam’s entire body quivered as he fought with himself. He forced his upper body to keep still but his right knee jumps up.

And Shiro’s damn floating arm changes angles, suddenly remembering to his stomach – now in parallel to Adam’s body. Its ridiculous width rubbed one cool, metallic surface against the skin of Adam’s inner thigh while the other, lower side chafed against the erection in his shorts.

At this point Adam has visibly given up on trying to read his book, resting it against his chest. His upper body was sticky in his thick sweater. He ran his other hand through his hair, not a single coherent thought going through his mind.

When Shiro places a kiss between his bellybutton and crotch, bolder still than anything he’d done before, a wild suggestion crosses Adam’s mind that he could and probably should throw his book at this stupid oaf.

But before he could follow through, Shiro pulls off him with an obscene suck.

“All done,” he informs him, an unkind twist behind his usual words.

Adam glares back, silently daring him to leave. His whole body is heaving, his stomach is glistening in saliva, and he knows, even with dim lighting, what arousal looks like on Shiro’s face.

Shiro gets off the bed and walks out his room without another word.

* * *

 

He masturbated, but Adam doesn’t sleep for hours after that, his body adamant about remaining unsatisfied. He tossed on his sheets, got up and paced the room. He entertained the idea of borrowing Shiro’s arm to creatively rid his body of residue tension. Then he banished that to the back of his mind and considered the options of either soaking in a bath or going for a run.

A run. That’s it.

He didn’t think his actions were loud but he knew he wasn’t bothered with being particularly quiet. He’s just opened the front door, one foot halfway over the threshold when he hears movement from up the stairs. Not that he hadn’t been expecting it.    

He shuts the door just as Shiro’s mouth forms his name.  

He _was_ going to run, but now he’s seized by the thought that Shiro was definitely about to chase him and that how, given his current size, there’s no way he’s going to outrun him.

So he changes plans. He heads for the new vehicle – the Garrison’s apology gift, after Adam’s complaint letter – an expensive, powerful model that can switch easily between various types of cars and hovercraft, and fires up the engine in sportscar mode.

It’s been a long time since he last drove. He heads for the coast, an hour away at this speed. Even if Shiro could guess where he’s going, he doesn’t have any means of catching up, which thoroughly pleased Adam.

There wasn’t much to see or do on a beach at night, but he’s content enough to sit on the sand until there was sufficient light for a proper stroll or jog by the water. The adrenaline persisted and gave him a mini power high. He felt liberated, an old rush he’d associated with flying his jets in the past.

The absence of any and all artificial sounds, with only the crashing waves in the distance and the bugs in the nearby trees, quells the fire that had been propelling him in the last six hours. The chilly temperature also helped. But the bitter irony at how he might be able to put physical distance between himself and Shiro yet never be completely freed from his presence still stung at him.

He’s got a hand rubbing soothing circles over his stomach before he even fully registered his own actions. His subconscious had acted on its own, but he might as well go with it. There’s not going to be any help for him if any sort of ‘emotional agitation’ were to trigger a reaction from his stomach in this moment.

A foot pushes out at him, raising a small bump on his left side. Impeccable timing. He reflexively massaged it, trying to coax it back in. It stubbornly refused, seemingly guaranteeing that among many other things, Adam could kiss goodbye to the idea of getting the privacy to mope in peaceful loneliness ever again.

Under different circumstances he might have shed a few tears out of frustration, but these days he hardly felt like crying anymore. Being overwhelmed by life versus being overwhelmed by death inspired very different sets of reactions, naturally. He’s defaulted to picking verbal fights to resolve his feelings as a consequence of being preoccupied by one Takashi Shirogane, alive and kicking, as well as a fetus inside him, also alive and kicking. It was almost just like old times, though in the past there had been the far superior option to physically spar with one another for ‘training’.

They fought back then, and they fight now. Different things, but same differences. In all seriousness, the two of them really aren’t the types that would make a good couple of parents.

Maybe Shiro could do it, with somebody else.

When the sky starts to lighten he starts to do some warm-ups. The foot had gone back in but on the opposite side a prominent bulge is now sticking out. He’s not going to bother with that now. As the sun peeks over the horizon he starts on his slow jog, music in his ears, embarking upon the illusion that there’s only him, alone on this beach, and for the next hour or so he is the only person in the world that Adam’s going to concern himself with, period.

Self-indulgence always made for a pleasant time.

When he’s looped back around and returned to the car, drained an entire bottle of water, and then pulled his earphones out – the illusion ends, dramatically so. His legs couldn’t keep him up from all that physical exertion and he collapses onto the sand.

“Shit,” he sighs, thankful that the ground is soft and no one was around to lecture him.

Or so he thought, far too distracted by the burn in his muscles to pay close attention to his surroundings. A new bottle of water appears suddenly in front of him.

“How’d you get here?” he asks. The exercise has expelled his bad mood from earlier, and he accepts the bottle with genuine curiosity.

In answer to his question he hears a sonic boom in the far distance, and the distinctive light trail of a Voltron Lion streaking across the sky in a split second. “Called an old friend for help,” Shiro tells him. Impressive.

“How are you feeling?” he asks next.

“Your baby’s fine.” Adam says, without any heat.

“I meant you,” Shiro corrects gently. “That much exercise after you haven’t done any in months…”

He wisely cuts himself off before he could say “isn’t good for your body”. Smart move. In return, Adam responds by taking Shiro’s right hand and placing it over his stomach. The relief is immediate and he relaxes back against the body of the car.

Before the silence could grow any thicker, Shiro apologizes. “I’m sorry.”

“I pushed you to it,” Adam answers him. “I’m at fault too.”

“No,” Shiro clarifies. “I’m sorry for everything. Knocking you up-“ the both of them wince at the word choice “And before that. For leaving.”

There’s obviously a lot on Shiro’s mind right now. Adam decides to indulge him.

“I hate you for it,” he says, frank but gentle.

“I know.”

“But I’m in the wrong.” He scratches one side of his head. Apologizing… he hated apologizing, he hated giving into Shiro. But maybe he’d only gotten so domineering because they never could see eye to eye over his disease. And with that gone, Adam is long overdue for an attitude change. “You came back better from it.” Fact was fact. “You even got cured of your disease in your mission to save the entire universe. It’s a miracle,” he admits thoughtfully. “A well-deserved one.”

He’d never had the opportunity to thank Shiro for saving his life – one out of billions upon billions in the universe – as part and parcel of his stint as a leader and member of the _Legendary Defenders_. He’d, of course, been harboring a lot of personal grudge, but there was no time better than now to express gracious sentiment.

But when he turns, trying to catch Shiro’s eye, the troubled, stormy expression on his face gets him to hold his tongue.

“If I really am better off now,” Shiro says slowly. “You wouldn't react so negatively whenever you look at me.”

“I’m stubborn-“

“No, you just can’t stand it.” He takes his hand off Adam. “The whole head of white. The scar on my face. My missing right arm or its replacement. And this body – cloned. Genetically identical, but technically-” Shiro swallows. “Different.”

The bitterness that Adam had prompted from him creates a new height of tension between the two of them. He swallows, feeling wrong-footed and worse – guilty. He remembered going through the battle logs of the Paladins and the footages in the Lions, the inexplicably horrifying moment when Shiro’s original body had disappeared into thin air, during Voltron's first big fight with the emperor.

“That’s why you don’t call me ‘Takashi’ anymore.” His voice takes him back to the present. His words were sad, and his tone – sadder. He didn’t sound so much as though he’s accusing Adam of the burying the truth, as much as he was frustrated at the reality of his life and all that he’d been so unfairly subjected to. 

“Are you really still him?” Adam wonders, overcome by sudden, piercing sorrow.

Shiro’s eyebrows twitch. He’d never looked older or so melancholic. “I’ve changed,” he admits. Buried deep under layers of discipline and bravery were Shiro’s deepest secrets, all of his fears and insecurities – a side that less than a handful of people got to see, and many legitimately thought to be non-existent.

They say there are no true winners in war, and now, on the face of its brightest, most valiant victor, an unmistakable air of defeat hung over him, draining him of life and spirit.

Adam wraps his midsection with his two arms, chilled. He’s reminded of many miserable nights past, when the mystery of his ex’s disappearance had been the only company he’d taken to bed.

It seems illogical to cling onto that old loneliness when there’s so much to be grateful for now.    

He knows the least he can do now is to offer comfort along the lines of ‘we shouldn’t fear change’ or ‘life goes on’, but he can’t bring himself to convince Shiro not to be afraid of the future when he himself is so deeply afraid of what is to come in _his_. 

The two of them sit mutely, beneath the rising sun. Two miserable fools, with the added company of a third – their unborn child. Time marches on, relentlessly.

Years ago, in a different life, Adam had thought of it as a privilege to be in Shiro’s most intimate circle. That in spite of their constantly clashing perspectives, or perhaps because of it, that Shiro had trusted him on a fundamental level. That had been the one thing that always convinced Adam to stay, even when he’d been frustrated beyond belief. The one time he didn’t – the _last_ time he didn’t, Shiro went off into space and died. Multiple times over. 

Their bond had been mutual, after all Adam had trusted him more than anybody else in the world, had loved him with the knowledge that he was also being loved.  

In fact, now that he thinks about it, he owes Shiro too. He owed him to keep up the end of his promise, to hold tight to his hand and convince him to stay – again. For good.  

And so Adam takes his left hand and puts it over his stomach once again. “Things change,” he tells Shiro. “Unexpectedly. And right now you have this – a baby. _Your_ baby.”

He’ll do this for him, Adam thinks. Looking beyond all that about parenthood or at-odd personalities, it’s clear that this budding life is something that Shiro intrinsically needed.

They lock eyes as Adam hardens his resolve. Shiro’s are like a brewing storm, staring deeply back at him.They contained gratitude but also a secret – as though there’s a promise he’s making himself that he doesn’t want to share with Adam, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some progress achieved after bouts of fighting, but they still have ways to go before full and proper understanding of one another. Pleased to be able to add the slow burn tag to this fic now. What do you guys think?


	3. Revisitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro gets an unexpected summon from the Garrison, and Adam is made to acknowledge his conflicting feelings about wanting this man to go - but also wanting him to stay. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Even now, with all that’s happened, Adam still didn’t have whatever it is that could convince Shiro to stay. 
> 
> He unbuttons Shiro’s pants – ignoring the half-hearted coaxes that he didn’t have to – and takes his erection into his hands. 
> 
> \---

As Adam pondered from time to time how he might eventually pull Shiro’s secret from him, he is certain that on his end, Shiro was scheming something similar to extract whatever truth that Adam was keeping concealed from him, too. Despite that, the two of them were back on amicable terms, though this time far more genuine than ever before, having come to peace after the discussion on the beach, and more specifically, assured from the knowledge that the other person also wants to have the baby. 

One afternoon, a delivery shows up at the door for Shiro. It brings to light the interesting fact that Shiro absolutely considers Adam’s place one hundred percent to be his home as well, and changed all his delivery address accordingly, but the chance for Adam to semi-seriously confront him about it is overtaken by the unexpected nature and size of the package. Shiro puts it on the dining table and it takes up three-quarters of the length.

The both of them frown when they see that the sender address is the Galaxy Garrison.

The package contains a high-tech case that looked like it’s protecting something extremely valuable on the inside. The lock mechanism required thumbprint scans from Shiro in order to unlock. What they find inside is a brand new, cutting-edge technology, prosthetic right arm.

“A gift?” Adam asks quizzically. Shiro looks surprised as he picks up the thick manila folder that had also come in the case. The prosthetic is transparent like glass, as aesthetically pleasing as a piece of art sculpture. The manual showed how to attach it, and boasted of a chameleon ability that worked by deciphering the wearer’s DNA and then synthesizing a layer of genuine cells over the structure, resulting in a lifelike replacement limb that would fool anybody with eyes, and can even be used for biometric verification.

It’s far too expensive and precious an item to be an ordinary, no strings attached gift. “They want me back,” Shiro says, confirming his hunch with a rare look of dread in his eyes.

“I’m surprised it took them so long to do something like this,” Adam confesses.

“Not happening,” Shiro says flatly, slamming the case shut. Then he pulls out his phone and disappears for two whole hours – only then to reappear with a look of defeat.  

“What’s the verdict?” Adam prompts, pausing in his book.

“Once-off mission,” he answers, leaning against the back of the sofa. “Two weeks, optimistically speaking. Or longer, in case of unforeseen circumstances…” he trails off.

He can tell from Shiro’s behavior that he’s already made up his mind to go, in spite of the reluctance. He also knew, despite his own distaste for the Galaxy Garrison, that whatever the deal is, it’s got to be a pretty big one for them to have gone so far to woo Shiro back.

“When do you leave?”

“Next next morning.”

In that case – “Why not try on the new prosthetic?”

The new arm is expertly crafted and easy to don even without Adam assisting. They had to deactivate his previous arm first. The new one had mechanisms that allowed for a precise, neat fit onto his body without pain or complication. The both of them watched as the transparent material shimmers, immaculate micro-scales flipping from the top of his shoulder to the tip of his longest finger, and took on the appearance of human flesh.

Shiro twists it this way and that, and then proceeds to grip the different items laying around the table. They quickly find out that it doesn’t afford him the superhuman strength that the detached floating arm had; nor the ability to change forms into various weapons as his original, robotic replacement arm could do. Shiro seemed to consider the realism a massive disadvantage. 

“You won’t unintentionally intimidate random strangers with this,” Adam points out.

Shiro holds out his hand. “How does it feel?”

Adam puts his hand in his and they squeeze each other’s palms.  

“Genuine,” Adam says, impressed, and strokes the skin down past his wrist in curiosity. “How do you feel?”

“Ticklish,” he answers, in a very small voice after a very long beat.

It then occurs to Adam – as it must be occurring to Shiro too – that no one had ever treated his previous arm with as much care and delicacy as now, with the reason being that the floating arm had been powerful enough to lift a car off the ground, entirely on its own – and it’d been far more weapon than man.

Then Shiro states, with sudden excitement: “We can go to the mall like this!”

Adam stares at him.

The one further out in town, Shiro explains. Then they can pick out baby supplies in person.

Adam groans at his suggestion. His point with moving out here so rapidly in the first place had been to avoid people. Shiro had logic in his words, and all his books had also constantly reminded him over that topic, but he’d pushed it aside… No time like now, he supposed. But “It wasn’t just the floating arm that made you an instantly recognizable celebrity, you realize.” He looks pointedly at Shiro’s face.

He assumed that was the end of the discussion and decided to let the idea of visiting the mall simmer in his head for a few more days before making the trip alone – probably right as Shiro leaves for his mission. But the next morning, right as he’s about to pour fresh coffee, Shiro taps him on the shoulder and says “What about now?”

Adam turns, jumps, and lets the pot go. Shiro catches it with his new right arm in perfect timing. His other arm swoops around Adam’s back so stabilize him in a sort-of hug.

There’s nowhere else for Adam look but directly in the face of Shiro’s unforseen altered appearance. He’d dyed his hair and eyebrows jet-black, and covered the big scar over his nose through some kind of make-up. It’s a drastic change, and Adam gapes at him, rendered completely speechlessness.

There’s a twinkle in Shiro’s eyes and the upturned corners of his mouth suggests that he’s quite enjoying his reaction.

When he regains a little more of his wits, the first thing Adam does is put a wary hand over his stomach (out of reflexive caution more than anything) and mutter “ _Shit_.”

“Shit.” Shiro also swears, the cockiness disappearing and immediately replaced by alarm. He looks down and quickly takes Adam’s stomach in his hands, but unlike the usual, there wasn’t one backed by Altean crystal power to work its magic touch. “ _Shit_ , Adam, I’m sorry, I didn’t think- I mean I knew you be surprised, but– Are you okay?”  

“I’m fine,” Adam cuts into his babbling. Shiro looks back up at him, puppy dog eyes on full blast. Adam’s mind is reeling in shock, feeling like he’s been yanked back seven years in time – to the day when they’d first become properly acquainted with one another, after Takashi spilled a pack of orange juice onto his lap in the cafeteria.

He’d been so surprised that the cool and intimidating, top student in his flight class would actually get into a scenario as cliched as _this_ , with his hands patting all over Adam’s midsection and crotch, that he’d been oddly calm in the situation, preoccupied instead with admiring the handsome face up-close in his head and not caring for any of his apologies at all. Just like now. 

Shiro bends down and pecks Adam’s stomach with a kiss, which is when he comes to his senses and feel his ears start to burn.

“I’m sorry,” he tells him earnestly.

“Don't be,” Adam assures. They were half in the past, half in the now, the only real difference being the massive stomach between them that they were both presently rubbing.   

And quickly enough Shiro grins, playful mood returning. “With a cap,” he pulls a vintage baseball cap on. “ _Incognito_.”

“It works,” Adam agrees, still unable to tear his eyes away from Shiro’s young, unmarred, and shockingly nostalgic face.

“Great!” Shiro laughs. “Let’s head out after breakfast.”

They eat in silence and then get ready. Shiro’s dressed simply and has his concealer in one of his pants pocket. He’s expertly matched a jacket over a sweater vest over a white tee shirt. Adam had pulled on a thick, full-length, charcoal colored trench coat and secured it snugly over his body. They didn’t just look like an odd pair, they looked like two men who hailed from two completely different climates.  

The mall that they eventually arrive at is busier than he would have liked, and while he doesn’t voice his nerves, he walks closely to Shiro, the proximity making him feel less vulnerable. Shiro seemed to be trying to distract him with different topics, and even though Adam appreciated it, his appearance alone was distracting enough. Shiro’s words barely through to his head.  

The store selling items for baby and maternity goods is really a gigantic labyrinth, it's size a perfect metaphor for how massive and overwhelming the responsibility of a baby was going to be.

Adam pushes the cart, mostly mute as he took in information upon layers of information. Thankfully Shiro had all the ideas of where to go and what to buy. Whenever he asked Adam for an opinion it was always between two options, of which he was grateful for and decided completely arbitrarily. He finds himself fully and easily distracted by products – like the toddler-sized backpacks on one aisle, for children three and up, and how at that age they would be talking and running about and wrecking mayhem – oh god. At another point, while Shiro hunted for milk bottles, he found himself in front of various brands of breast pump machines, reading the labels on the back of the boxes. Shiro comes up to him and makes a “Huh” in an extremely thoughtful voice.

They’re both thinking the same thing, but Adam doesn’t know the answer to the question. Like everything with the pregnancy, he’s too apprehensive to find out.

The final item they get from the store is baby clothes. Shiro picked them in every single color, carrying a whole rainbow of them on his arms. Adam laughed when he saw him. Evidently he’s not about to find out the baby’s sex today.

They leave the store with all their purchases – so many, the store let them take the cart down – and head to the car, now switched to a van. Adam only checks his watch after they’ve loaded everything, and was surprised at the number of hours that had passed. Shiro’s stomach growls loudly. Adam’s kicks him in clear resentment.

They return to the mall and head straight for the large restaurant in the middle of the ground floor. It’s right in the middle of the public’s eye, but in this moment Adam’s tired and hungry enough that he doesn’t even care about trying to find a second option. If it kicks him one more time…

Food couldn’t come soon enough, but when it does, everything is served at once, including dessert. For two men their size, an entire table’s worth of food didn’t seem over-the-top suspicious, even as Adam worried internally that he might need more than third servings.

In-between Greek salad and meatball pasta, he’s just taken a bite into the lemon meringue pie when a familiar voice wafts over to their table. “Adam? _Shiro?_ ”

Shiro turns and smiles while Adam freezes like a child caught red-handed.

“Fancy bumping into you out here!” Shiro greets. “Curtis!”

“You don’t say,” Curtis laughs. Adam turns to him with a weak smile, hyper-conscious of his every movement. Thankfully, Shiro’s the bigger distraction and Curtis’ attention was all directed at him, not paying attention as Adam slides forward and hides his bump under the table and folded arms.

“You dyed your hair?” Curtis says, awe in his voice.

“I got tired of looking twenty years older than my actual age,” Shiro explains with a laugh.

“Right! It suits you!” Curtis seemed lost for words. “And a new prosthetic arm!”

“Just a little something better suited for public places.”

“Of course! No one would suspect anything, I can tell you that.” There’s a bit of awkward staring, before he then turns Adam. “Adam! How’s retirement been? You seem…” Adam’s heart lurches. “A little under the weather?”

Thank _god_. “Pneumonia, a little while back. Ill-advised swimming,” he lies smoothly. “What about you? What brings you out here?”

“Oh,” says Curtis, a faint blush coming up on his cheeks. He looked every bit the young and impressionable junior as years ago, when Adam had first met him at the Garrison. For a split second it makes him wonder if he’s gone too far with his plan of hiding away from every single people that knew him ever since he discovered the existence of the baby.  

“Here with a date,” he smiles shyly. “Have you heard of the app _Beautiful Strangers?”_

“Dating app,” Adam guesses, and then his smile turns teasing. “No but I’ll be sure to check it out.” He turns briefly towards Shiro and catches a pointed look from him.  

“That’s the same as us,” Shiro tells him, disarmingly charming. Adam rolls his eyes while Curtis laughs in good humor.

“There’s a carnival not too far from here that you two must visit then! I hear they have amazing lights at night. Their giant Ferris wheel there is the highlight, one ride is an hour long!”

“Sounds great! Do you have the address?”

Curtis texts Shiro the details. “I better get back to my date,” he says. “It was great bumping into the two of you. We should catch up some other time!” And then to Adam’s dismay, he moves to hug Shiro.

It’s a long, solid one as Curtis gives Shiro’s arms and shoulders a good nice squeeze. Adam tenses in worry. He’s next.

“You sure your date won’t misunderstand?” Shiro suggests good-naturedly.

“Not if he wants to impress me,” Curtis replies brightly. And moves towards Adam.

“Uh, Curtis…” Shiro says, looking worriedly in the distance, just as Curtis arms come around Adam’s torso. “You might wanna check on him, all the same.”

“I’m still recovering from the cold,” Adam lies thinly. “You really shouldn’t.”

Curtis half turns around, looking mildly perturbed. He settles for squeezing Adam’s hand and says “Next time!” Then he jogs off. Adam wilts in relief.

“You know, the place does look pretty interesting.” Shiro shows him a picture of the carnival on his phone. “I think we can get there in time to catch the sunset on the Ferris wheel.”

And turn the day into a date right under Adam’s nose? “Takashi,” he starts, about to call him out.

The look of pleased surprise on the man opposite him stops the rest of his sentence from leaving his mouth.

* * *

 

After that, Adam lets Shiro drive him to the carnival without another word. Shiro is in a good mood and leaves him to doze for the journey.

They reach by half past six, but the queue for the ride is long, the sun sets with about twenty something couples still ahead of them, which was a disappointment. On the other hand, it brought a much needed reprieve in the form of cooler night breezes. Shiro left the line and came back with water and hot dogs.

They finished everything (and they each had two dogs) and still had some to wait before their turn. With each minute that crawled by Adam’s fatigue got worse, the tightly bound winter coat the largest factor to blame for his light-headedness, the weight in belly so tortuous on his lower spine and knees that he wanted to give up all pretenses and sit right there and then on the ground.

When they finally get in the car, he collapses onto one side while Shiro sits opposite. It’s properly night by now, the sky glittering with hundreds of stars. Adam relaxes as the cool air from the air-conditioner envelopes him.

As the car starts to move, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. A souvenir from the war, the device is capable of a number of small-scale military-grade tech that could help streamline the dull processes of civilian life, such as scanning an environment for hidden or surveillance cameras.

None. Complete privacy.

Adam undoes and shrugs his winter coat onto the floor, then pulls up his shirt and reclines on the cushioned bench as the full blast of the cold air directly hits his skin .

One whole hour. The ride is smooth and slow. Adam’s getting comfortable and certain that he could fall asleep in here.

He peeps across and observes Shiro, not as comfortable as him, but relaxed and above all, youthful and at peace, peering out the clear windows with a smile - and is suddenly reminded that he’s due to leave for his mission in less than twelve hours’ time.

Before he could stop himself, Adam’s mouth utters the words “ _Beautiful Stranger.”_

There’s no escaping the fact that he’d been addressing Shiro. The both of them laugh at the same time, Adam self-conscious, Shiro surprised. Probably extremely flattered, at that. “You’re beautiful yourself,” he responds.

“I’m a pregnant man,” Adam puts bluntly. “I’m weird.” And then his mouth continues to run, and he goes another step further – whatever happened to his filters? – “But you look exactly like my ex.”

Shiro laughs some more. Within Adam’s mind, he tells himself that he’s gone mad from the combination of the desert, the weather and the hormones, all of them. He’s in an odd mood, nostalgic but veering on the edge of sadness and resentment; finding Shiro in this disguise so heartbreaking to look at that he would rather pretend the person opposite him was a complete stranger: a doppelganger who’s never left Earth, and had the miraculous fortune to avoid all the stuff with aliens and intergalactic war. A happy fantasy. 

“Your ex?” this man says, politely curious.

Adam smiles, well humored. “He went off into space and died.”

“He left you, in this condition?”

“He’s a dick,” Adam confirms. “ _Was_ , a dick.”

His stomach ripples with movement.

“Agreed. Sounds like a real jerk move.”  

His gaze is intense though his body language relaxed, and Adam’s head spins with new things to throw at him.

“Does my condition turn you on?” He asks, a question that he’s wondered for some time now.

The man smiles faintly but doesn’t answer. “How can you be so sure your ex is really dead?”

“I’ll kill him if he dares to come back,” Adam says flatly. Those words came out easy. It had been his mantra and it got him through the days, back in the years when he’d gotten wind that Shiro had been alive after all. More or less. For most of the time.

“Good thing I’m not him,” he says next, boldly stepping across the middle boundary, out of the light and into the dark. The shadows moved across his face and body, casting him in a way that made him look unreal. 

Adam suspects he’s gone too far with the mind game when Shiro bends down and kisses him.

He’s slow to react, indecisive as to what sort of message he wanted to respond with. How to regain his footing in the game. When Shiro puts his two hands over his stomach he flinches, unfamiliar with how lifelike and warm they both felt. Shiro lowers himself over him.

“Tell me when it’s too much,” he says, into his left ear. He hikes Adam’s shirt further up, past his chest, and latches onto his right nipple.

Adam grunts in surprise, but allows it to happen and doesn’t fight him off. He’s curious about the answer to this question, after all. His nipples had been sore, and now, he's also learning that they're sensitive to an entirely new level, with Shiro’s mouth opening up the possibilities to him. Adam’s body tightens and his breathing pattern changes. He could feel Shiro’s heart beat against the surface of his stomach.

He groans in a little pain when Shiro pulls off and switches to the other one. Adam touches the area around it tenderly, holding his finger up in the light. Sweat, a little bit of blood. On the other side Shiro mouth pulls and tugs from him, harder than before. When he eventually _unlocks_ something Adam’s body reacts powerfully, jerking his hips up and jamming his stomach against him.

Shiro sucks some more before pulling off and immediately kissing him on the lips.

There’s a strange, foreign sweetness on his tongue, tainted by a faint twinge of rust.

Adam's mind is blown, finding it hard to believe that his body is lactating, even when Shiro pauses to shows him the liquid on his fingers, glistening in the moon light, white and thick.

Shiro returns to the first nipple, already rigid from before, and sucks until that one also starts to sting. Between his own deep intakes of breath he can hear Shiro swallowing, clear as day.

Consumed by the heat of the moment, he knocks the cap off Shiro’s head and threads his hair with his fingers. His thighs squeeze around his torso.

When Shiro decides he’s had enough to drink, he pulls off, looks Adam dead in the eye and licks his lips. A performance that goes straight to his dick. He laps up the trail of liquid that had leaked out on the other side and moves down Adam’s chest, leaving a line of sticky kisses. His fingers all the while busy undoing the buttons of his pants.

When Shiro gets down between his legs, he couldn’t even see the top of his head over his stomach.

He feels blind.

Even though he’d been expecting it, the hotness of Shiro’s mouth as he takes Adam in elicits a loud gasp from him.

Shiro’s forearms are on his thigh, keeping his legs apart, both hands on his heaving stomach.

He sucks and gets Adam to twist on the bench, fully delirious, at times trying to calm down by focusing on the nightscape out the windows, at times losing control and fucking into Shiro’s mouth.

It takes a long time for him to come because that’s what Shiro wanted, toning down his efforts when he Adam was close, then slowly rebuilding steam, and repeating the process endlessly. Adam couldn't keep count. He held onto his stomach the entire time, at one point convinced that if Shiro kept this up any longer he was going to pull the baby out of him, right here and now.

When their car reaches the tallest point on the wheel and gingerly, at its dinosaur pace, starts to descend, that’s when Shiro lets him climax.

He slides off the bench almost immediately after that, onto the floor and right into Shiro’s lap. His mind is jelly and his body sweaty, leaking all sorts of liquid everywhere. Shiro meticulously cleans up his mess with his mouth. He buttons Adam’s pants and lets him rest on him without complain.

Adam felt good, physically, but wrecked mentally. A pragmatic shopping trip turned cheesy couple date turned farewell fucking around on a Ferris wheel? When he’s regained his bearings he glares with all he’s got at the sad, sad smile on Shiro’s face.

Even now, with all that’s happened, Adam still didn’t have whatever it is that could convince Shiro to stay. 

He unbuttons Shiro’s pants – ignoring the half-hearted coaxes that he didn’t have to – and takes his erection into his hands.

“Sit,” he tells him, eyeing the bench.

“You don’t have to,” Shiro says, being noble.

Adam jams his tongue into his mouth and sucks all the breath out of him. He gasps in surprise. 

“Sit,” Adam tells him again.

He sits.

He takes Shiro into his mouth, summons the old tricks from memory, and gets to work. He’s mindful not to be overzealous – much as a big part of him was hot with impatience – and wanted to draw this out for him as well, returning every amount of goodwill and effort that Shiro had done unto him.

He takes it as a sign of success when one of his hands goes from holding Adam back by the shoulders to rummaging through his hair. He comes, and Adam swallows every last drop. It’s been years since he’s last swallowed cum. It was bitter as ever, and he thought with dark humor that he hoped the baby wouldn’t mind the taste any more than he did.

Exhaustion sets in after that, and he turns to recline against the bench, rubbing his stomach idly while Shiro recovers. He’s aware that Shiro might be saying something, but he’s not interested in listening, and drifts off into sleep.

* * *

 

When he regains consciousness next he on his bed and in pajamas. The sun is coming up and it illuminates Shiro, sitting next to him on the bed, wide awake and looking out the window. Their bodies were close enough to touch.

Shiro sighs, half-turns with a raised hand, but stops mid-way when he sees that Adam had awakened.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “I have to go soon.”

Adam is groggy, but at those words his mind sharpened to clarity so quickly that he almost sent a punch flying into Shiro’s face.  

“I managed to reactivate my floating arm. I’m leaving it here with you.”

“Wouldn’t that arm be more suitable for your mission?”

“You’re my priority, not the mission.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

“You don’t need my permission to stay.”

That gives him pause.

“I’ll be back in two weeks’ time,” he says. There’s a potential argument to be had there in regards to the duration but it wouldn’t achieve anything, with the both of them as stubborn as they were. Adam changes tack.

“You think it’s a good idea to leave your baby alone with me for two weeks at _minimum_?”

At that he smiles, leans down and kisses Adam on the forehead. “It’s your baby too.”

His lips and hands linger, his desire to stay made frustratingly transparent. Adam wanted to knock him off, tell him he didn’t have the right to, not with this attitude, and lecture some sense into him. He pushes himself up from the bed, about to get into it, but Shiro cuts him off with a “I promise.”

Adam shoots him an exasperated look.

“I promise to come back.”

He peels Shiro’s hand off his stomach. “Those are words you have to _prove_.”

“Wait and see,” he tells him. Not _wait for me._ But _wait if you want to,_ or _wait, I know you will._

He leaves – Adam watches him go, stuck on the bed. He's fearful about a potential storm, a rehash of a scenario that had already played out years ago. He can't quite fool himself into thinking that it's an irrational one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn’t you agree that Adam’s endured enough of his self-sacrificial bullshit after all this time? 
> 
> A short write-up [here](https://resultingingoodfaith.tumblr.com/post/182251563179/vld-adam-related-personality-headcanonmeta) of the way I headcanon Adam, which I wrote in the middle of the previous chapter.
> 
> No time mention in the story, but he's now 26 weeks!


	4. Out of Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam survives on his own with the robot arm until Shiro’s much anticipated return, though when he comes home, all is not quite right with him… 
> 
> \---
> 
> “Were you bored?”
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> “Lonely?”
> 
> “… Yes.”
> 
> Adam glimpses his smug reflection in the water. “Why the smile?”
> 
> “Proof that you needed me.”
> 
> “Really?”
> 
> “Without question.”
> 
> \---

**Shiro** _(14:30) **:**_ I’ve arrived at base

 **Shiro** _(14:30) **:**_ Departing Earth in two hours’ time on Garrison spacecraft in order to catch up with Voltron  

 **Shiro** _(14:30) **:**_ They’re not impressed at my decision for bringing the civilian arm, which means my plan is already working

 **Adam** _(16:19) **:**_ Be safe

 **Shiro** _(16:20)_ **:** I will.

* * *

 

 **Shiro** _(06:00):_ Morning

 **Shiro** _(06:01):_ How are things?

 **Adam** _(06:24):_ It’s been quiet.

 **Shiro** _(07:03):_ Would love to have some of that out here 

 **Shiro** _(07:03):_ Had a hell of a time the last few hours trying to escape the gravitational pull of a supermassive black hole

 **Shiro** _(07:04):_ I’d gotten so used to wormholes I’d forgotten how much time traditional human space exploration would take

 **Shiro** _(07:05):_ Look at this amazing star cluster!  

 **Adam** _(10:30):_ Be careful out there

 **Shiro** _(10:31):_ Yeah

* * *

 

After his resentment dissipated it didn’t take long for him to wish, helplessly, for it to come back and distract him. The house was filled with a terrible silence. He was reminded of the years of despair he’d spent isolated away from people in his blind, crazy search for Shiro, certain that the Kerberos mission failure had more to it, and doing all he can to search for the version of ‘truth’ that only him and Keith had believed in. Those were the mad days.   

If it hadn’t been for his stomach, in a state of constant flux – unceasing activity, _especially_ during sleeping hours – the loneliness would have overtaken and thrown him back into depression. It's because of that that, for the first time, he found himself feeling grateful towards it.

In Adam’s search for noise, he keeps windows around the house permanently open, letting in sounds of nature. Mostly the wind. Sometimes there was rain. Other times he had the radio going. Meanwhile he reproached himself for letting Shiro grow to such a big presence in his life once again. So much for the weird balancing game they'd been playing.

He’d always been in Adam’s peripherals, occupying physical space, making noises one way or the other by humming to music or in his ever-optimistic attitude towards cooking.

Adam hates the irony of how he's denied a peace of mind especially now that he wasn’t around to do any of that around the house.

* * *

 

 **Shiro** _(12:35):_ Met up with Voltron today

 **Shiro** _(12:35):_ The others are adamant that I dye my hair black permanently, especially Lance

 **Shiro** _(12:35):_ Though Keith says that I should just do whatever makes me happiest

 **Adam** _(13:57):_ Listen to Keith

 **Shiro** _(14:02):_ Okay

* * *

 

 **Shiro** _(10:45):_ We’re making much better progress now with Voltron

 **Shiro** _(10:49):_ We have five key alien planets to visit in order to address the representatives of the thousands of alien races on the present status of Voltron and the Coalition. Two down, en route to number 3

 **Shiro** _(10:50):_ It’s heavy duty politics… As it turns out, I’m on this ride both as ambassador for Voltron, because I’m the one universally recognized as Black Paladin instead of Keith; as well as an ambassador for Earth, my current planetary affiliation

 **Shiro** _(10:51):_ Every meeting is just a joy of explaining my retirement decision and introducing my successors from the Garrison to alien diplomats, and those guys are always confused. 

 **Shiro** _(10:52):_ Anyways… I’m missing home

 **Adam** _(16:02):_ Come back soon.  

* * *

 

His two hands were the ones now tasked with the twice-daily cream application. It doesn’t compare at all to when and how Shiro does it. He’s noticed that his mood, for one, isn’t as pacified when it’s through his own efforts. He doesn’t know if the reason for that is logical, like how Shiro’s just done this activity for a greater number of times, and was therefore better at it; or irrational, in that something Shiro had channeled love and positive energy, while Adam is at best bemused, at worst irritated at the amount of space this thing inside of him was occupying.

That being said, the more he does it, the less of a chore it becomes, and sometimes he catches himself absentmindedly rubbing his stomach without end, caught up in the act of charting out the locations of the baby’s head and hands and feet, making a three-dimensional map with his fingertips and palms.  

The rest of the time he’s lazy and gets Shiro’s mechanical arm to do it for him.

For a robot, it’s a pretty intuitive one. Like an attentive but silent butler – or literal third hand. It seemed to have learnt the patterns of Adam’s day-to-day routine, hovering nearby to take over the frying pan for him when he tired, or hitting the lights switch for him so he didn’t have to get up. In regards to the cream, all Adam had to do was squeeze some into its middle for the robot arm for it to get to business. In addition, its massage style was indistinguishable from Shiro’s.

He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but whenever the robot hand sinks deeply into his flesh – leaving an imprint as Shiro was fond to do – he always feels a powerful reaction from the baby, practically trumpeting its preference to this one mechanical hand over Adam’s.

He’s just a little annoyed by it.

* * *

 

 **Shiro** _(06:01):_ Morning

 **Shiro** _(06:01):_ Look at this galaxy right outside my window

 **Shiro** _(06:01):_ It’s beautiful

 **Adam** _(13:11):_ It is

 **Shiro** _(13:20):_ Our destination planet is still about four hours away

 **Shiro** _(13:20):_ I'm hiding from the team. Four-fifths of them. They think I'm hiding some sort of secret and have been trying to draw it out with Truth or Dare 

 **Shiro** _(13:21):_  I wouldn't have a problem with it, but Pidge has got both Baebae and Kosmo working for her... 

 **Adam** _(13:26):_  Good luck

 **Shiro** _(13:37):_  Yeah thanks. 

* * *

 

 **Shiro** _(15:01):_ How’s the baby? Anything from the ultrasound?

 **Shiro** _(15:01):_ There’s a pretty bad storm keeping us from landing on planet 4 – we’ve been held back for over a day, and now we’re still waiting as the alien races decide on an alternate planet 

 **Shiro** _(15:02):_ On the bright side, the team and I are visiting a nearby alien planet called Xikander as tourists, and they have plenty of interesting stuff for sale

 **Shiro** _(15:04):_ Look! They’ve got all these colorful plush toys they make for their young!   

 _Shiro has sent four images:_ “Don’t worry I kept my shopping a secret from the rest of them”

 **Adam** _(15:33):_ It’s getting real active…

 **Shiro** _(16:32):_ Hahaha

 **Shiro** _(16:32):_ That’s great to hear!

 **Adam** _(15:53):_ Everything’s fine.

* * *

 

From the details that spilled over from the daily text messages, Adam could more or less grasp the overall progress of his mission. It’s been made clear to him that Shiro isn’t going to return on time, and he wondered when and how Shiro planned to break the news to him. Given that tomorrow marked the fourteenth day since his departure from home, he expects it would be soon. 

Sure enough, in the afternoon of the following day, Shiro requests to have a video call. He’s in his workout clothes in his personal quarters. He tells Adam that there’s been unforseen delays in the mission, looking at another two more weeks minimum before he could get back to Earth. But he’s hopeful it won’t be for too long. “I’m sorry, I really am.”  

Reclining on the cushions, a fresh cup of coffee on hand, Adam lets him fumble with his apology until he’s completely drained his cup of liquid. “I knew it,” he sighs.

Shiro looks at Adam’s face sadly, his eyes searching for understanding and forgiveness.

Adam sighs again. He could berate him, but that seemed so pointless. More lonely days, at least another two weeks in his forecast; he’ll just have to deal with it, somehow. With great generosity, he decides to make conversation. “What have you been up to?”

Shiro launches into descriptive retelling. After the conversation ends, by some wordless arrangement they leave the video call on, but get on with their respective activities. Adam walks to the kitchen to wash his cup, and returns to the sofa with a book. Shiro starts warming up on the floor.

It’s not the same as him being here in the flesh, but hearing all his little noises again was like rediscovering the peace he’d been missing sorely ever since the morning he’d left. Even though Shiro’s image is hovering in mid-air like a television screen, and his sounds were coming through earphones plugged in Adam’s ears.

It’s not the same, obviously not. But it’s good enough for his heart and soul. Not that Adam was ever admitting that out loud.

It's not distracting at first, as he sunk into the pages of his book. But over time, as he moved onto more intense exercises, the sounds Shiro is making also get proportionately louder.

It’s when he’s re-read the same sentence ten times over that Adam realizes this isn’t the best arrangement for him.

He’s pitching a tent in his underwear.

He glances up quickly, making sure that the lower half of his body wasn’t visible on Shiro’s side of the screen. He's in the midst of single-armed push-ups and wouldn't be paying attention to him anyway. 

But Adam can’t keep his eyes away. The audio is what really gets to him – Shiro’s breathing, uneven, somewhat in rhythm, getting progressively labored as he switched up the sets.

“You have a lot of equipment in your room,” Adam comments, concealing his exasperation with a flat tone of voice. There was enough to make him look more than slightly obsessed with health and fitness. The treadmill in particular looked like it took out way too much space than it was practical, begging the question, “Why don’t you just use the gym?”

Hip-thrusting on the floor with a massive barbell over his middle, Shiro answers him between huffs and explains, “I tried to make- Unreasonable demands- So that they would think- I was- _Heh_ _-_  Too much of a hassle- To be worth.”

His muscles tensed, contracted, held and then released. It’s magnetic. There’s probably no point in pretending his book was engaging his attention any longer, but keeping his gaze fixated on Shiro’s workout routine is far from ideal for his down-under problem.

“Miss exercising?” Shiro quips. They both know the answer to that is yes, especially after Coran made him swear he wouldn’t do anything outside of light jogging or swimming. Unless this is a sign that he’s noticed Adam’s interest on him. “I’m sure Keith must have had something to say about your hobby,” he redirects the conversation.

“Oh, he knows I don’t wanna be out here,” Shiro says, changing to lighter, dumbbell sumo squats. Now his profile is to Adam. He knows, realistically, that Shiro isn’t able to know how close a scrutiny he had on watching his glutes bob up and down, stick out, and hold. Perfectly round and toned. A good shape, indicative of diligent maintenance, and great springiness. “He knows I’m on a mission to woo you back.”

Unsurprisingly, Shiro’s right eye goes to him as he said that.

“I gotta go,” Adam says abruptly, leaning forward to end the call. His dick had jumped at that. “I- have to order groceries.”

“Oh, okay-“

Adam hangs up. He gets a text notification immediately.  _“Let’s do this tomorrow again”._

Sure thing. After he resolves this. Adam rubs his stomach in contemplation.

And then the idea of how to do so flashes into his head like a bolt of lightning.

The floating robot arm.

It's not engaged in anything at the moment, so it laid dormant, waiting at a close distance for Adam’s command.

He’s never done _this_ before, but he’s thought about it, more than a few times. He brings the robot arm over and observes it, running his hand over the metal, the back and the knuckles. There’s an answering vibration as it switches to active mode. He flips it around. The robot fingers were thicker than that of average humans, which was a point that Shiro had complained idly about. It looked big and ungraceful, but for this purpose, thicker here was to be better.

He pulls out rubbing cream from his pocket to lubricate the digits, and then folds four of them down, leaving the index finger sticking out.

While half of his mind focuses on his task, the other half tries to make the switch from perceiving this appendage as a part of Shiro’s being to that of a simple, anonymous tool.

Spreading his legs and bracing his feet against the edge of coffee table, he takes the arm between his thighs and rubs the pad of the index finger against his entrance. He repeats it three times. The robot learns and mimics the activity by itself.

It’s exceedingly _mild_. Tame and not really achieving much. He’s seized by the urge to forgo the warm-up and push the thick, sticky, robot finger in gradually, like the usual, but the unpleasant obstruction that is the size of his stomach causes him to change his mind. In a snap, he's pushed the finger all in, in one go.

He grunts. There’s sensation, but muted and dull, with thanks once again to the thing weighing down on his internal organs and spine. 

He teaches the robot arm a new move – all the way in, and then almost all the way out. Fast, with impatience. There’re consistent, sticky squelches interspersed with his own puffs of breaths and his replay of Shiro’s grunting in his mind.

Good. Better. But if he wanted to _properly_ indulge this fantasy he was going to need more fingers.

A single robot finger is comparable to one and a half-width of Shiro’s, so two robot fingers were equivalent to three. It’s a shame he couldn’t teach the robot to scissor. It fucks him at a consistent, unchanging pace, bringing him to a climax on the sofa – not the thigh-shaking, drawn out-moaning kinds he fantasized about, but a satisfactory one all the same. After he’s done, he pulls the appendage out of his ass; on the metal, sweat on the tips, lines of cum on the sides.  

He puts it next to him and catches his breath. In the stony silence there's nothing to judge him, except for one thing: the baby, kicking and turning, doing what felt like a body roll. Seeking attention? Or reproaching him for debasing the robot arm?

He's not done with this arm, Adam decides. He pats his stomach, in a mood sunnier than ever before. The rest of the days are just starting to look up.  

* * *

 

His stomach has now gotten to the size of a nuisance. Every physical thing – doors, tables, the sofa, the bookshelf – it would encounter before Adam. He’s not used to it, even after experiencing a few of the more painful ones, like knocking into furniture corners. Now he had to stand further from the sink, sit further from his food, stretch his arms further out to reach things. At this rate he could look forward to be able to balance plates of food on his stomach while he engaged in passive activities like reading or watching things.   

He vents his frustration on the robot arm at least twice a day (teaching it another trick as well - how to handjob), though ever since he’s managed to work the entire fist in, the old, lonely boredom had been slowly but surely creeping the corners, coming back for him. 

So when he hears pounding out front he runs to get it. He pulls the door wide open, relieved and excited, though not to the extent that he would forgo his pride, and “You’re late” spills from his mouth before he properly takes in the person standing outside the door.

Why didn’t Shiro just unlock it himself? 

He’s resting his arms against the door frame, leaning his upper body inwards, hips jutted out at a side. Immediately noticeable is the tipsy smile on his face. He wobbles forward and slumps heavily onto Adam like a bear, while his bag drops on the floor, barely missing Adam's feet. 

“ _What_ happened?” he demands, pulling Shiro towards the sofa. It’s challenging, given Shiro’s alarming lack of motor coordination. He couldn’t believe that Shiro had gone drinking. But his cheeks weren’t red and Adam couldn’t smell liquor off him.

“Adam,” he slurs, face-planting the cushions.

This looks like a situation meriting a phone call to the Garrison right about now. Someone had to be accountable. Iverson first, or Holt?

Shiro turns his head sluggishly and smiles at the potted plant on the coffee table. “Adam…” he repeats. “Adam Adam Adam Adam _Adam.”_

“That’s me,” he replies, not sure what else to say.

Shiro’s arms snake around his waist. He doesn’t think much of it, rummaging his pockets for his phone, but the baby moves, which comes as such a surprise to Shiro that he cuts off all mumbling and freezes. 

Iverson it is, Adam thinks darkly, promising to raise hell if Shiro's turns out to be amnesiac. 

But as soon as he fishes out his phone Shiro surges up and shoves a crumpled paper note into his hand.

 _Doctor’s Note,_ he reads. _Inhalation of unidentified purple alien gas on planet Xikantu. The locals swear the gas is non-toxic and only used it as a party drug. Extensive blood tests have proven their statements true. The only thing is that his intoxication-like symptoms will persist for as long as one Xikantu night, which is 50 Earth hours. Get him in a hot bath to calm him down and then let him sleep it off. No worries, he’ll be fine! With love, Katie._

Another kick. Shiro giggles.

So he’ll leave the angry phone call for later. For now, Adam has work cut out for him. He has to pull Shiro off the sofa and drag him up the stairs, since the only bath in this house is on the first floor. He takes a side, while the robot arm takes the other. Shiro doesn’t resist, but neither does he help, so it was like lugging dead weight. At the top, the robot pulls Shiro up to his full height, while Adam swoops under to shoulder his weight, and then stumble their way to the bathroom.

Adam sits him on the edge of the tub, turns on the tap and starts taking his clothes off. He stays still for most of it, only to then tips backwards before he could remove his innermost tank. He takes his socks and pants and underwear off, and then rotates him so that his body properly fit into the tub.

His own shirt – which is in fact Shiro’s – is three-quarters soaked in bathwater by the end of it. There’s sweat running down his back. Tank top still on, but unbothered by it, Shiro is calm and docile, possibly even unaware of the sensation of water filling up around him. In spite of what the doctor’s note had assured, Adam looks at him and holds his stomach in worry.  

“Come in,” Shiro mutters. The water level is about to reach his lips. He's looking ahead smiling off in mid-air, but his words could only have been directed at Adam. 

Adam’s frowns. The tub is spacious for one person, but not meant for two, much less one heavily pregnant, but if he left Shiro alone in this state he might just drown himself in the water.

He sighs and gets in.

Hands swoop around him immediately, acting with both strength and speed to pull his back against hard muscles framed by broad shoulders. They circle him as Shiro’s face dips heavily into his shoulder. Next were the legs. Shiro’s left knee lifts out of the water. His other leg crosses on top of Adam’s right one and pins it down. It’s entirely by design, and Shiro clearly doesn’t want him to be able to move. For a moment he wonders if all that intoxicated behavior had been nothing more than an act, only to hear heavy breathing against his skin, almost resembling a snore.

Adam calls his name tentatively.

“I doused myself in alien party gas so that they would have no choice but to send me home,” Shiro confesses, alert, and surprising him with a long and coherent sentence.  

“Great idea,” Adam humors him.

“It’s ‘coz I missed you both...”

“I know.”

“… So done with outer space.”

“Tell them that.”

“Because of _you_.”

He sticks his mouth over and steals a kiss, though he’s clumsy and doesn’t land it properly.

“Not too tight,” Adam murmurs, pulling his hands away from his stomach. Shiro interlocks their fingers together. He’s suspiciously fast, if not fully coordinated, when it comes to these things. Adam pinches the skin on his inner arm, just to be sure. He responds several seconds later and says “Ow.”

“It’s alright.”

“But I just missed you...”

The chance for Adam to respond with “I missed you too” comes, and then goes.

“What have you been up to? At home?”

“Reading… listening to music.”

“Were you bored?”

“Yes.”

“Lonely?”

“… Yes.”

Adam glimpses his smug reflection in the water. “Why the smile?”

“Proof that you needed me.”

“Really?”

“Without question.”

“Maybe,” Adam concedes, after considering that Shiro’s might not have a fully intact memory of this conversation after he recovers.

“I know it.”

“You know what?”

“My robot arm… It’s part of me. I can _always_ feel it.” 

No no no no no. If Adam could jump out of the tub right this instant he would, but being prevented from doing that, the next best thing he could do was to outright deny. “You’re confused," he quickly assures. 

“No, I know…”

“You were gassed and now you’re sick.”

“Yeah but…”

“Which is why I’m looking after you.” He half-turns, catches Shiro’s hooded gaze. A little confused, but the point of the baby's head digs into Shiro's abdomen, and he becomes fully, successfully distracted. 

“I missed you…” Shiro says again, voice soft and petulant. 

“I know. You've been saying that.” 

“You got so much bigger…”

As though to make explicit just what he meant by "bigger", Shiro raises one hand out of the water and puts it on Adam’s nose, and then draws a shaky line downwards; past his lips, tracing down his neck, across his heart, the soft beginnings of his raised stomach, coming to a rest at the hard point near the mid-bottom, where the baby is mostly situated at.

They watch each other’s’ eyes, brown on brown, Adam trying to figure how conscious he is behind his lost, harmless-looking ones. It was a romantic gesture. But being reminded of his size meant being reminded of the time, and of a implication that he was positively terrified of. 

“I’m _thirty_ weeks,” he says, his words coming out as a reminder to the both of them. 

“I've been keeping track...”

“You were gone for a whole month.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to, I really-”

Unintentionally, Shiro's observation had unlocked one of his secrets, which is the fear that had been worming inside of him, gestating all this time, getting progressively stronger. “ _The baby will be here soon_.”

Too soon. Not soon enough. He’s terrified of everything that sentence entails. What he would still have to endure until then. The birth. The aftermath, how to raise a child. How they were going to do any of that - conversations they've not had, acting like things were going to be fine as long as they took one day at a time. It went well until Shiro had to leave. What if he had to leave again? Everything - it was too much to say. Adam reaches his arms around and hugs him instead. And even this - seeking the reassurance he wanted of his own initiation - is a pretty big step for him.   

“Don’t leave again,” he tells him, thinking it better to clarify what he meant. What he wanted. Before- In case they ran out of time, god forbid. 

“Promise," Shiro says, which is a commitment that the old him would have never been able to make. He'd never had the luxury to. 

Between them, there’s an understanding – like the old thing they used to have, though a little different, and a little more.

It banishes the loneliness and inspires Adam to feel hopeful about the future. It settles over him with an old familiarity, and by nature he's wary of it. 

But for now he's content enough with it to appreciate the peace that it brings to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby name suggestions please!!


	5. Love Me Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam makes the bold decision to allow Shiro (permanently) onto his bed in a bid to have his off-the-chart sexual urges satisfied.

Adam worked hard to get Shiro out of the tub, wiped down and robed, entirely on his own. Funnily enough, _he’s_ the one toiling without gratitude from all the effort, but the loudest complaints came from the baby, as it made clear that it considered now to be the best time to roll 360-degrees diagonally, and then back. 

It’s so tumultuous, he has to leave Shiro lying with his cheek to the toilet bowl for a moment in order to appease the demon within.

He tells himself that he’ll rather deal with this _alone_ than have Shiro awake and conscious to judge as he hesitates in the hallway, before hoist him onto his own bed, in his own room.

There’s never been a decision concerning Shiro in some form or manner that’s ever sat completely fine with Adam, but this time he’s tired enough to forgo his usual mental gymnastics and just appreciate the chance to scrutinize every inch of Shiro’s body in private and without fear.

He’s handsome.

 _Still_ , handsome.

The roots of his white hair were growing back out. Truthfully, Adam likes him better with jet-black hair, though this did give him a unique, rebellious look.

He gently touches the scar across his nose. The edges of it are raised like a tattoo, and he traces its full length with a finger.

Boldly expanding on his curiosity, he brings his attention next to the other scars that were half-visible through the bath robe. Bigger and redder were all the new ones. He pulls the robe apart to get a better look.

He doesn't trace all of them. Only some.

With Shiro snoring away, Adam falls asleep peacefully to the thought that his perspective on those battle scars had somehow managed to go from sore subject matter to interesting stories he’ll someday like to hear about. If he could attribute that to anything, perhaps it was the distance made the heart fonder…    

He wakes up rudely when Shiro knees him right in the stomach. Painfully. Adam punches him reflexively, but all Shiro does is grunt.

It’s too late now to think about hauling him back to the guest room. Past a certain point, when Adam’s body has sunk completely into the mattress; and the baby, too, is still and at ease, Adam doesn’t even _think_ about moving until his hunger (or bladder) gets unbearable.

It takes a longer time for him to fall back asleep, since he now had to placate an upset stomach. Simmering quietly in the darkness, he suddenly hears an “Am I on your bed?”

Adam checks his forehead temperature before replying.

“It’s easier for me to look after you,” he explains.

Maybe he's hoping for an apologetic reaction to earlier, but Shiro simply drifts back off without another word.  

Just before sunrise, he’s awoken again when his comforter decides to suffocate him. As he tries to free himself from Shiro’s arms and legs, Shiro has to repeat himself twice before Adam registers what he’s saying.  

“Can you call me Takashi?”

He insisted on that for a fair bit, completely disregarding Adam’s attempt to feign sleep. He ends up relenting. He calls him that once, in the hopes that he’ll leave him alone, and also more than fifty percent sure that Shiro’s not going to remember this promise when he’s properly awake.

Though he ends up not getting any further sleep. He had to keep fighting Shiro’s limbs off, and in the process Shiro completely wiggles out of his robe. Adam’s too grumpy and sore to care about wanting to draw it properly over him. The flipside of is that the mere  _idea_ of Shiro being completely naked beside him is as distracting even as he strives to avoid looking at him. 

An hour or so later, he’s still debating on whether or not it's time to get out of bed when Shiro asks innocuously, “Do you want to get married?”

Again, Adam feigns asleep. He stays perfectly still and keeps his eyes shut.

A finger pokes him in the stomach, jabbing directly on the baby. His stomach ripples and Adam shifts uncomfortably in response. His body isn’t his own and can’t be trusted at all. 

“I know you’re awake.”

Fine. “Do you remember why we wanted to get married, in the past?”

Shiro doesn’t respond. The answer is that he hadn’t wanted to – Adam had been the one proposing. There had been one ring. It had been unceremoniously returned to him with a shitty break-up letter on the nightstand that one morning. In retrospect, he couldn't believe he hadn't thrown it away - he'd been so angry. 

Though that was then, and his intention isn't to drag up the past and use it as an argument for now. To stall Shiro temporarily as he came up with an answer, yes. Because Adam feels a lot of things right now - he feels resigned. He feels like a burden. He feels like he’s lost a good chunk his independence. And he certainly feels a lot of lustful thoughts. But love?

Shiro is rubbing his stomach like he would a genie lamp. Realistically, he’s probably feeling for the head. But he’s unaware that the baby had rotated inwards, and kept searching, a little listlessly, given that Adam wasn't willing to be cooperative.

“You keep evading my question,” Shiro says, eventually hooking his wrist loosely around him. “You think I don’t know what you’re  _not_ saying.”

The statement is unnervingly astute, but Shiro sighs a "You're wrong" and then closes his eyes, a light snore quick issuing forth from his mouth.

“I want to be done with this baby,” he says to himself, when he thinks Shiro’s fully asleep. It’s what he’s said before – which is the truth – but it’s also his default excuse whenever he feels cornered.

The argument can be made that they’ve been through enough these past months together that he should have gotten over such feelings long ago. What about missing Shiro's company? What about not taking each other for granted? What about all the buried feelings that had slipped out in their many intimate moments together? 

“That’s what I meant," Shiro surprises him, his unexpected reply coinciding with the baby kicking his organs petulantly.

“Those are two separate things.”

And Shiro sighs yet again.

The next time Shiro regains groggy consciousness, Adam has eaten, jogged, showered, freshened up, and returned to bed with snacks and a book. He’s refreshed himself and is in a good enough mental state to be the one with the probing questions this time round. “Do you think you love me?”

Shiro stares at him in outright confusion before replying “Of _course_ I do.”

Silence then, the unspoken question hovering between them in the air.

He’s asleep again without getting a response from Adam – not that he had any – but it’s with a smile on his face as Adam absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair, lost in thought. Shiro's peaceful expression is a jarring contrast to his somersaulting baby. A part of it is jutting out, creating a strange triangular point above his bellybutton, stretching his stomach to its limit. With its birth looming ever closer, there’s not much luxury of time left for Adam to grapple indecisively over his feelings. The answer is and should be pretty clear.

Ultimately, it's the fear that he still can’t get over.

Thankfully the next time after that, all Shiro says is “I’m hungry.”

To which Adam replies “I’m horny.”

“… Can I eat first?”

* * *

 

No more pretenses, Shiro’s officially now moved into his room. Adam can’t come up with a good enough reason for him to get back to the guest room. As it stands, his attention is tied up in their present battle of wills.

It’s about sex. To Adam, at least, that’s the end-goal he’s more personally concerned with. 

To start, they’ve established a number of things through their limited attempts at a proper conversation: Shiro wants to get married and raise the baby together. Adam appears ambivalent, and allows Shiro to think that he’ll be closer to achieving his goal if they had good sex.

And Shiro is committed. He is eager to please and achieve _his_ goal, but he’s made clear that he's not ready – presumably needing more time to get his many worries and concerns out of the way. But in the meantime, Shiro walks about the house in deliberately scant clothing – short shorts, tight shirts, no shirts, no shorts – that seemed like a targeted move to drive Adam further up the wall in unsatisfied lust. He eyes Shiro unabashedly as he roams in and out of his line of sight, an obvious ego boost - but with his hormones screaming at him to get off on anything - literally anything - he couldn't remember why he wanted to play so hard to get in the first place. 

Sex is off the table for now, but he eats Adam out in the morning sometimes. At the kitchen table, when he’s busy trying to prepare breakfast. He kisses and sucks and pulls at his butt cheeks, then sticks his tongue in, lapping at his walls until Adam spills the cereal onto the floor.

Mostly, Shiro prefers to roll over whenever they’re on the bed and suck on his chest. He drinks with a powerful enthusiasm. It’s pleasant enough for Adam to tolerate this strange new fetish without complaint. But his repeated, constant stimulation has made his nipples large and permanently swollen, instantly sensitive under shirts that are anything other than pure cotton. His pectorals got larger too, jelly-like to the touch, and heavy with fluid. Shiro likes to cup and squeeze them. They feel more like Shiro's than his at this point. Consequently, his nipples now leak milk at any random moment of their choosing. It’s a peculiar problem to have, and always a mess to deal with. He takes off his shirt when he notices, and if Shiro’s around he takes that as an open invitation to personally come and clean up the residue on his skin. That's the only reason why he's not  _too_ annoyed by the matter. Adam lets him, and backs him towards the washing machine and tries to seduce a fuck out of him.

They end up in a mutual compromise. He's resting against the machine, cushioned on fresh towels, with Shiro's wrist-deep in his ass. He takes him in greedily and holds his stomach as Shiro jerks him to a climax. The vibrations from the machine bolstered every sensation, and Adam screams and claps his thighs tight around Shiro's arm. 

“This is married life,” Shiro would say, with a knowing look in his eyes, and he makes sure to express this sentiment as often as possible, especially when they’re all up each other in the different rooms around the house.

* * *

 

At last, the long-awaited sex.

Adam takes Shiro’s hands and puts it on the backs of his thighs. His fingers sink easily into his flesh, the new layer of soft fat above his muscles.

There’s a pause – he can see Shiro deliberating whether or not he wanted to go through with this position. 

His gigantic stomach sat between the two of them like the largest, most ungainly elephant in the world. With every second he waited, the anticipation in the air mounted and Adam’s resentment towards his massive belly grew.

He’s spared when Shiro comes in to kiss him, lifts his hips and gently slides a pillow underneath. Adam widens his thighs – as far as his body allows him to.

“Are you sure?” Shiro breaks to ask, as he knew he would.

Adam shoves his face back down over his chest.

Shiro sucks, and when Adam feels teeth he bucks, rolling his the entire surface-area of his stomach against Shiro’s body. He blushes at the thought of it. 

“Ready?”

He nods and crosses his ankles.

Shiro slides into him, fluid and fast, and Adam sighs, the sensation lesser in both pain and stretch than he’d remembered of times past. 

To no surprise, Shiro is unbearably cautious, moving at a pace and manner that he no doubt considered acceptable but felt mild to torturous to Adam at best. Adam has never felt this sort of sexual frustration before. He tightens around every part of Shiro in every way possible, his legs on the sides of his chest, his hands on his hair and back, his insides around his penis. It’s all  _not enough._ Pregnancy’s such a bitch. And trying to get Shiro to up the intensity was like leading a mule into water. Adam didn’t want to articulate instructions out loud to him. There’s perhaps an easier way to convince him to go along with what Adam wanted. He catches Shiro’s jaw and kisses him urgently.

It’s quite the literal stretch to do so over the stomach. There was a certain distance that couldn’t be closed, and it almost made his attempt comically unsuccessful.

“Adam…” Shiro sounds ready to admonish him.

“Harder,” he demands. “I can’t feel it as much because of _this_.” 

Shiro grimaces but complies. Adam’s upper body slides a little on the pillows. The impacts get a little louder, and just that much faster.

“Like this?”

“More.”

Shiro complies – still visibly reluctant – until he’s at an intensity that Adam couldn’t hear the slaps of their body over the sounds of his own groans; so powerful that Adam could ignore the movements inside his belly in favor of the grinding in his bottom. _“This,”_ he gasps. Just to be perfectly clear.

His stomach jiggles, hiking up towards his chest before slipping back down, most of the time in tandem, but other times bobbing at its own rhythm. Adam thinks about the baby getting the ride of its life and climaxes, squeezing the life out of Shiro as he twists and grunts and comes inside him.

* * *

 

The next time they go with Adam’s back to Shiro’s front. It was a unanimous decision in order to have the stomach out of the way. After fluffing up the pillows Adam kneels, his legs spread, his hands going to the headboard for grips. Shiro’s are on his midsection, gingerly lowering him onto the pillows. They remain there, holding onto the bottom of his stomach, rubbing and stroking and most unwilling to leave.

Eventually they do move to his ass. As Shiro pushes into him from behind he sinks belly-first into the cushions with a little groan.

It’s a far, _far_ superior position to before.

His stomach bounces off the pillows as they build up steam. It’s heavy, moving with its own momentum. It’s like having a bowling ball sway to and fro within his skin. Utterly impossible to ignore, even though Shiro does his best: his mouth is all over Adam’s neck and shoulders, scraping his teeth against skin and sweat. Adam sounds become shorter, higher in pitch, and while their hips snap at breakneck pace Shiro’s hands come around his stomach again, acting as a bumper between him and the bed.

Adam loses it with a shout and falls forward.

Shiro doesn’t remember to restrain himself when he climaxes and his hands sink like claws into his belly.

Adam cries out and pulls at them – though he likes it. It was a good kind of hurt.

The interlocking of their fingers happens entirely unintentionally as they roll off one another, but mostly still tangled together, and fall asleep in the mess that they'd created.

* * *

 

When Coran comes for his scheduled check, Adam wonders how best to inform his doctor about the copious amount of sex he’s been having the past weeks. He felt that it wasn’t information he should withhold but he also didn’t want to be lectured.

Though even without him actively directing the conversation, Coran still manages to find plenty of things to chat about. “You’re doing very well,” he marvels. “Your organs shifted even better, this past month. _And_ the baby’s dropped and is in the perfect position for birth. Well done!”

“The baby’s dropped?” he repeats, suddenly nervous.

“Affirmative. It’s positioned lower in your pelvis now. Surely you must have found yourself going to the toilet more often!”

 _34 weeks,_ he reminds himself, in his own head. Right on schedule, he supposed.

It’s on Coran’s mind too. “I’ll wager we’ll see the baby soon in the next 8 weeks!”

Adam swallows and shifts his gaze to the ceiling.

“Ever considered having the baby naturally?” Coran continues. He posed the question with deceptive casualness – maybe he thought that would lessen the impact that the idea of that would have on Adam.

“That’s impossible,” he rebukes, clenching his fists at his sides to refrain from grabbing his belly, as is his current reflex.

“Well no, it isn’t really.” Coran's reply is equally short. “Back in Altea, pregnancy is a complicated process for our males. Not all of them can alter their body perfectly to the baby’s requirements. Physically expanding to carry a fetus is rudimentary, but getting the innards out of the way, developing a proper channel that a baby may naturally pass through? That’s difficult, unless you have a team of alchemical masters following you around 24/7. Naturally that's the ideal, and when achieved it's widely celebrated by family and friends, because it speaks not only of one's level of self-discipline, but also one's mastery over the alchemical arts. It’s a much-coveted thing in our culture. Then there's also the very prevalent, romantic idea that natural childbirth makes the bond between parent and child that much more powerful...”

Adam falls mute to his words. His could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

“Just some food for thought,” Coran says, delicately now. 

Afterwards Adam thinks back on their exchange and realizes the expression of shock he thought he’d been making might have been one of fear instead.

* * *

 

Coran’s words filled him with a desperate kind of energy that had him mounting Shiro that very night. He kissed him with a passion that completely distracts him. The position gives Adam full control over the flow and intensity of the sex and Shiro doesn’t even remember to put up a protest.

Adam rubs his penis between his cheeks and guides it in. It enters easily. He adjusts himself quickly, impatient to nick his prostrate. When he does find it, he rams his sweet spot against Shiro at a pace that set his thigh and calf muscles on fire. Shiro’s hands were all over his lower body until they weren’t – his fingers pinched his nipples and pulled. Adam comes with a shout, spilling on Shiro’s chest. He collapses shakily onto his side.  

He’s done, but Shiro isn’t. He turns Adam around and fucks him at his control now. The haze of exhaustion barely settled before it got replaced by a new wave of energy. Shiro works at a frenzy, slamming into him without holding anything back. He comes with a roar and Adam too, a second time, the cum jerked out of him and getting on both their bodies. Shiro drops him back to the bed, barely gentle, and then licks him, from deep between thighs up to his chest.

Adam falls asleep with his hands in Shiro’s hair, Shiro’s tongue swirling and lapping around his nipples, his body tired but his mind still restless, somehow still not quite having had his fill.

* * *

 

He's completely used to the sensation of sticky trails and dry cum all over his torso by now. It surprises him when he wakes up a few hours later – the clock says _3:15AM_ – discomforted. His head is bleary and he’s not sure what exactly woke him up.

But just before he drifts back off his stomach squeezes him.

Adam freezes.

It’s a brand-new sensation. The walls of his abdomen are drawn tight for some reason, clenching around his innards for several long seconds.

He only draws a breath after his muscles relax. He leans up on his elbows and observes the skin of his belly, illuminated by the bright night sky.

Nothing. Not for minutes, under his watchful gaze. He rubs himself and leans back down on the bed.

And it happens again, a quick and powerful cramp. Pressure clamping down around his womb – and while his abdomen is locked, the baby pushes out drastically against his skin, most definitely unhappy with the sudden turn of events.

“Shiro,” he gasps, alarmed. “Shiro!”

The contraction passes and he sits upright, hands around his stomach, while Shiro wakes up in a daze. “S’what? Adam?”     

He takes one look at the panicked expression on his face and instantly puts his arms around him. “What’s going on? Adam? Is- Is the baby coming?”

 _It shouldn’t yet,_ Adam thinks, pushing past the fear and worry to summon information from the books he’d been reading. It’s too early; he has a month or so more to full term. Unless – it could be premature. But they hadn’t done anything to trigger that. The sex? No way.

“False labor,” he gets out. “Braxton hicks. That’s what this- _could_ be. I- I don’t know for sure.”

“What… What do you want me to do?”

“Rub.”

Another contraction comes. He could feel the muscles under his skin hardening as Shiro rubbed with increased vigor. The baby doesn’t react – until it does, a kick to his insides so powerful that he yells.

“Are you sure this isn’t the real thing?” Shiro gives voice to both their worries.

 _What if the false labor triggers it?_ His books didn’t have an answer for everything. If his baby got agitated enough – if his water broke – then they had to call Coran. He’ll have to come over and perform the surgery immediately.

“Help me up,” he whispers. “Don’t stop your actions. Just help me stand.”

They get off the bed. Adam leans heavily on Shiro, his legs unsteady. They’re facing the mirror, and Shiro’s face is full of worry. His own is of pure terror. He rubs the base of his stomach while his other hand checks between his thighs, feeling for wetness. There isn’t any, though he could feel beads of sweat starting to form. Shiro massages him without pause and the two of them sway on their feet.

Like a romantic slow dance under the moon, only sans the music and any of the mood. He could feel his pounding heart inside his belly, while Shiro presses kisses of comfort against his neck and shoulders. He felt the changes and tension in his skin with his own two palms, and for the longest minute, his stomach was like a rock-hard boulder, tight against an angry baby that they were both trying to placate 

But it works. The cramps fade away and the baby is lulled back to peace, even without the aid of the floating robot arm. Its Shiro. The alien magic that was in his body, his inert potential from within. His presence. The anxiety slips away slowly as he kisses Adam beneath his ear, still stroking him, but slower now, intuitively knowing that the worst had passed. “You’re alright." His hands form an inverted triangle over his bellybutton. His arms were holding him so close that there wasn't a single square centimeter of skin between his back and Shiro's front that wasn't stuck together like glue. 

"I’m here. Everything’s going to be-”

Adam turns and kisses his lips. 

He’s alright. The baby’s alright. Still placated, inside of him - and now snug between it's two fathers. Neither of them were ready – thank god they all saw eye to eye on that.

Shiro's right. He's here now. And he could stay forever. It was the promise Adam had tried to extract from him, years ago in their first relationship; it was the same vow that Shiro had made, under the moon and stars those few months ago, at the beach. He'd always known about it, even without Shiro ever having voiced it. 

But maybe it's better that Adam asked him, just to be clear. 

“Marry me,” he whispers. Shiro stares at him, bug-eyed and still. 

There was nothing else to say, except, perhaps, his name. " _Takashi_.”

“I thought you would never ask again,” comes the response, relived and shaky with emotion. “Yes.  _Yes,_ god.”

“Need a ring. We- Can get something. Tomorrow.” Together. 

“I have one.” And immediately there’s thin metal band between his fingers, the little rock on it glinting like a star in the dark. “This one is yours,” Shiro whispers. “Did you keep – do you still – have mine?”

“I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous scenes in this one... Last chapter next! Please look forward to it! 
> 
>  
> 
> _(Lonely Feeling - by LOVE SUPREME, Stay - by Post Malone)_


	6. Forever More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby arrives.

Adam feels a deep and unceasing fatigue all the time now, both physical and mental.

It’s always given him a hard time, but this final trimester had been the absolute worst. It wobbled with unpredictable movements and made climbing the stairs the most precarious activity in the entire house. When he got to sitting, even on soft surfaces, he had to lower himself with utmost delicacy, and sink into the cushions with his legs spread wide. With gravity treating it like an object of its own, his stomach would dip obnoxiously, squashing and engulfing his unfortunate nether regions in sweat.

He’s gotten so big everywhere, he’s given up trying to pretend he had any semblance of dignity left. His pectoral muscles had developed into proper breasts, round enough to qualify for a cup. They were annoyingly quick to harden and ache with milk, and not to forget, his nipples were large and stretched from frequent use. His walking gait had transformed from fast-paced soldier stride to a slow and unbalanced waddle. The baby had continuously sunk inside him in the past few weeks – he could feel the bulk of its weight gathered as a point of pressure deep and low in his crotch, as though desperate to pull him to the ground. It seemed like he had to pee every hour, to Shiro's increasingly pitying stares. 

The wait is hard on the other father too. Observing the cartwheels that never ceased was enough to drive anyone mad, because how could the baby’s actions be so vigorous and still not be ready for birth? He would lay items on his belly just to watch the baby shake it off, like little socks and toys.

Invariably, Shiro’s playfulness lead to more, but he’s also gotten hesitant now that the (expected) due date was so close. Adam couldn't stand him or his baby. “Why don’t you fuck it out of me?” he suggested.

So they tried, in week 39.

Watching the edges of his baby jolted and pushed through his skin as Shiro pumped him was a newly discovered fascination of his – his prostrate was too stimulated for him to care about the usual discomforts – until they touched a nerve. Adam shouted, Shiro pulled out, and for the next few hours they waited anxiously for his stomach to pop – to no avail.  

All that, and it didn’t even account for the way his stomach would clench up at any moment now, ever since the night he’d had the false labor. Initially he kept track of the frequency and rate of occurrences, suspecting that it could be a precursor to labor. But up till now his 40th week stomach is still attached to his body, and give or take one to two hundred of these pangs a day, Adam simply couldn’t be assed to care any longer. 

Without that outlet, Shiro’s become obsessed with coming up with names – that is, when he’s not babyproofing every square corner. He had a different one for Adam each day – sometimes even two. “ _Ayaka_ ,” he would say. “Means rainbow in Japanese.” Or “ _Gin_ for silver.” Or “ _Shiori_ sounds nice, for a girl. And _Shiori_ sounds like Shiro!”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What do you think?”

“You don’t speak a word of Japanese.”

To that, Shiro went, under his breath, “Takashi Shirogane is two words.”

“What about English names?” Adam requests politely. 

Shiro cocks his head. “Do you mean first name _and_ middle name?”

Adam scratches his side. “Sure? I mean…”

He nods. “Good idea.” And then he asks Adam for his opinion on androgynous names like Robin and Charlie. Adam remained mostly non-committal. Shiro took to reciting his name list directly to his stomach instead, poking with his fingers until he got a reaction – which was easy stuff. The baby acted as though it no longer had any need for sleep; whether that was because it wanted out or due to Shiro’s incessant prodding, he couldn’t tell.

“The lilies are here,” he says, interrupting Shiro’s flow. A statement far more provocative than it seemed – Shiro freezes and he stares at Adam in undisguised disappointment, leaning up so that his face could be seen over the tip of his stomach.

Adam simply stares back. The magenta lilies were the closest things he could find on Earth that most resembled the Altean juniberry. It was the princess’s anniversary. They’d been hoping for the baby to have been born by now, but things never go as planned in this house.  

Shiro puts his lips on his skin. “I can’t leave you two now.”

“It’s just a dinner,” Adam offers.

The two find themselves in a staring contest. Through the past few hours the baby’s feet had been angling towards the top of his stomach, pushing incessantly, and right this moment it pushes so hard that a clear footprint protrudes out of him, faced directly at Shiro, a statement telling him to ‘get out and go’ clearer than anything Adam could have hoped to say.

“It’s just a dinner,” Shiro repeats to himself later, as Adam helped him into his suit.

“We’ll be fine,” Adam coaxes, more for him than for himself.

At the door, Shiro lingers with resolute eyes and his two hands glued onto Adam’s middle. Neither of them said anything, and the house lights were dim. Through the layers of Adam’s abused shirt (one of the remaining pieces, with the toughest synthetic fiber) and skin he had a solid grip of his child, from one end to the other.

It’s easy to forget about time like this. Adam indulges him, and takes Shiro’s face in his hands. He leans forward, straining against his stomach; Shiro’s hands move to the back of his waist and pulls his body against his until their family was in one tight, snug embrace, such that their lips could finally touch over their baby.

It was a tight pressure around his belly, and Adam could only bring himself keep at it for a few seconds - unless they get distracted. He feels through the kiss as the casualness morphs almost immediately into urgency. Shiro’s excitement has always been dangerously infectious. His hands are on his ass, which had gotten fleshier, thick with fat. He teases; Adam knows he has no true intention of going through with anything sexual. He reaches his own hands behind him, unlocking the front door, and as the door swings open, nudges Shiro out with all the weight of his stomach.

Adam grabs the bouquet and shoves them into Shiro’s chest and face so that they didn't waste any more time trying to figure out a goodbye. That was enough last-minute regrets for everybody. 

He shuts the front door quickly after that, and the uneasy quietness of the house settles over him like a black cloud as the sounds of Shiro’s engine trails in the distance. His nerves were threatening to catch fire, and Adam takes quick, broad strides up the steps to the shower, suddenly desperate to be cocooned under something – anything – until his heartrate settled at a more normal pace.

Now that managing his bulbous midsection has gotten so much more difficult, Shiro accompanies him into the bathroom and helps shower him. He gets to the places that are hard to reach – most of his back, his inner thighs, his legs and feet – places that weren’t his front and stomach. And he does it with patience and doesn’t make Adam feel so frustrated about his big, annoying body, or the big, annoying thing growing within.

Without that buffer, Adam hasn’t felt uglier in a long while. He scrutinizes his reflection, the skin inflamed, an angry red, the bottom half streaked with dark and unflattering stripes. He stands in the shower stall and hoists his stomach up to rest against the metal bar. Then he proceeds to scrub it down with soap – thoroughly, since there’s so much more surface area to cover, and delicately, since the baby is so testy these days. It’s opinionated, and reacts to every movement he makes across his skin with kicks if it was happy, and more kicks if it was unhappy.

His new breasts though, those got proper attention. They were aching again, so soon after Shiro had left. With a groan he squeezes the ball of the flesh with one hand and pinches his nipple with the other, wanting to relieve himself. It’s not the same without a mouth, but he makes do as best as he could, and takes his time. 

Afterwards, he tries to unwind with television shows, though his stomach managed to find disagreements even in regards to that. It bucked constantly even though Adam had all three hands rubbing at it. Finally he has enough and gets to his feet, deciding to prepare dinner. Food usually sated his stomach, though perhaps it was too little too late. The baby kicks him hard enough that his stomach bobs up and down as he walks, completely independent of the rest of his body, which was drawn taut, like a spring forcefully pulled out of shape.

He’s in mid-step when a squeezing sensation grips the walls of his womb, bringing with it a pressure so crushing on the contents of his belly that he yelps in shock – and pitches forward, towards the stairs. His body betrays him utterly and all at once. His hands shoot out to grab the rails in vain and he crashes into the steps.

Adam screams.

He’d ignited an unforgivable fury from his stomach. Paralyzing pain fires up from his side, his heartrate jackhammers, and a disconcerting ringing is in his head. Rust was in his mouth and nose. He breaths come short and fast – too short, and too fast – only to stall as his stomach contorts in on itself in a single second, stiff and unrelenting. Every other muscle in his body bunches up in tension, and a guttural groan slips out of his mouth. He'd never felt pain like this before - not even when he'd crashed his fighter after those alien missiles shot his bird out of the sky. 

Sat there, body stuck to the steps, he completely loses track of time and is only dimly aware of its passage by the waves of contraction racking through him. There was a firebrand in his right side, stuck into his flesh. The pain doesn’t ease, but he somehow catches a little more of his breath. With the robot arm attached to his stomach, Adam pulls himself up the steps by his arm strength alone, his legs jelly and his body draped over the bannisters the entire time.    

He makes it to the landing and collapses to the floor. He’s supposed to have studied up, but now that it was happening he couldn’t dredge up a single piece of information from his books. Between his legs he could feel liquid, hot and sticky. He had an idea of what that was. Shivering and sweating by the bucket, he crawls his way into the toilet, and pulls himself up by the tub.

Getting the hot water tap running at maximum speed is a piece of cake compared to trying to hoist his uncooperative body over and into the tub. There’s a knife – no, multiple knives lodged in his belly, and with his every movement he jostled them, and widened the radius of pain. He falls to his knees with a scream within a second of stepping inside the tub. The water level rises slowly around him, the smell and tinge of blood unmissable.

“Call Shiro,” he finally rasps to the robot arm. Shiro picks up first thing and catches Adam mid-scream. He could feel his opening becoming inflamed, the point of pressure becoming unbearable. The baby is coming. It kicks him, alive and unbelievably angry.  

_“Adam? Adam! Is that you? Are you- Is the baby coming?”_

He turns onto his back with difficulty and immediately his stomach bobs and swells, jerking his hips up with uncomfortable strength. The burning between his legs forces his thighs apart, but there’s barely enough room in the tub. He holds onto his stomach and tries to splash water against it. 

“ _Adam? Adam! Say something! What happened?!_ ”

He groans, unable to get a single word out of his throat, and blindly reaches for the phone in a bid to pull it closer so that Shiro could better hear him. He could hear Shiro’s tires screeching on tarmac. But he’s blindsided by a sudden spike of pain – like a clean shot directly through his middle – and ends up slapping the phone to the floor. He screams warbles in frustration, followed by pain.  

The water level is at his chest now. It almost makes him feel better, except that his head feels clouded, weary from all the physical sensations. He attempts to reach for the phone, but it’s for naught. He could neither lift his body high enough nor stretch his arm long enough and his stomach is the reason why, jamming resolutely against the wall of the tub, unwilling to give way. He tries, and tries, and tries until a sharp pain slices through his bottom, more acute than anything else before it, and a cloud of blood bubbles up in the water.

By now the emotional shock has given fully to fear and the terrifying realization that Coran’s not going to be here soon enough to cut the baby out.

“Come home,” he begs, not sure if he’d actually vocalized or merely imagined it, and then passes out.

* * *

 

When he wakes up he finds himself out of the water, his body resting against something soft and his limbs being held apart by other’s hands.

Then he feels it. There’s a sword lodged directly down the middle of his body, all his organs pierced through like pieces of meat on a kebab. Its hilt was at his opening, splitting him open, an unrelenting pressure that refused to move, and could not be removed.

His body squeezes foolishly around the blade, forcing his embattled nerves further down on its sharp edge. He tries to give voice to a mix of “ _help me!_ ” and “ _surgery!_ ” and “ _the baby!_ ”, but all that comes out is an unintelligible howl.  

They pull his legs further apart, and someone’s hand touches a part of his body that doesn’t feel like him. Fingers tug at his opening, peeling his flesh away and worsening the pressure. He wants to squirm away but doesn’t have the energy to. The stretch between his cheeks indicate that they were well past their limit. There is something bone-hard and round making its way through him, and he’s so tired and beyond pain that he barely had anything left in him to scream.  

Then his mind snaps fully back into the situation and he realizes the baby is practically about to emerge from his body.

His next scream coincides with a wave of contraction so powerful it forces his back into an arch. His hips lift off the bed and tremble in mid-air.  

It rips out of him slowly, millimeter by millimeter, only to suddenly slip out, hot and sticky, becoming caught half in and half out. He’s not able to catch his breath properly and the next scream catches in the back of his throat. His opening is ablaze, congested, caught up in something thick and tight. 

He body readies the strength before his mind could even catch up. He hears a low, keening sound issue from his own throat. His abdomen squeezes, moving without conscious control, and he pushes – practically ripping Shiro’s fingers from their sockets – and suddenly the fire goes out, literally, as the rest of the baby slips out of him faster than he could blink.  

Sound reaches him now. There’s a flurry of movement, smells and confusion, and they pass the baby to him, more purple than red, sniffling and just starting to scream.

A baby. A real, living being. The umbilical cord was still connected and he could feel the tug between the two of them, as he was now face to face with the thing that he’d been forced to come to terms with in the past ten months.

“It’s a girl,” says Coran, his voice soft and distanced. “Of course it is.”

She cries against his chest, her huge grey irises covered by tears, and Adam weeps.

* * *

 

_Epilogue_

Her name is Lilly, short for Lilith.

She was named after the flowers that her fathers’ had arranged to honor a heroine.

Born on the anniversary of the greatest defender of the universe, and now the brightest constellation in the sky.

Her parents got their marriage officiated the night of her birth by the same doula who delivered her.

The decision to move to a different house – one on the other side of the desert, and where the bedroom and toilets were on the same floor as the living area, was unanimous. They settle into life together as a family. Everything came together so naturally, Shiro’s heart swells with pride and feeling every time he thinks about it.

On some days she looks more like Shiro, and on others, more like Adam. Interestingly enough, her hair is neither black nor brown, but pure white, and especially silvery in the night. It’s beautiful.

They raise her differently and on different things, hoping to balance out her temperaments and interests. Adam reads and talks and even sings to her, encouraging verbalizations. Her voice is high and lilting, practically regal in nature. He knows she probably got that naturally proud, dignified from Adam rather than him - or perhaps it was the Princess herself, watching down from the stars and adding a little touch of Altean flair to his girl. Adam feeds into her natural curiosity and builds an encyclopedia of stuff in her head, while Shiro encourages creativity and adventure, putting her in cardboard boxes and pillow forts and creating make-belief worlds of travel and adventure. She had numerous lion plushies – they were making them in every single color of the rainbow now, it seemed – and favorite is always the black lion. Or maybe that’s just because it’s the largest toy in her arsenal. 

Everything is done with love, though her real favorite person appears to be Keith Kogane – the cool uncle who drops by once every month with interesting toys from alien planets with superior technology. They joke that Keith’s name might even be her first real word. For someone as reluctant about interdependency as Keith, he seemed pretty keen on making it happen.

Ah, the idea of having another child. He’d had that in mind from the day Lilly was born; now that she was two, Shiro’s far more forthcoming about articulating his thoughts to his partner. That's not to say that they talk about it outright; instead, Shiro leaves suggestions by engaging in patterns of deliberate behavior, such as leaving his hand on that pouch of soft flesh as and when possible, bringing up other parents with two or more children often during meals. He also gulps down milk from his husband's chest with vigor, channeling the idea with wordless persistence through touch and sheer passion. 

Adam lets him, and so the seed sprouts. 

There’s a little pouch of extra skin in Adam’s lower belly that’s been there ever since Lilly was born. It fascinates Shiro to no end, the skin remaining soft and stretchy even as Adam worked to get his abdominal muscles back - and Shiro notices as the pouch suddenly goes from loose to swollen in exactly a month's time. The change is very subtle and Adam doesn’t quite believe in it, but Shiro’s conviction is unshakable. He would even swear by the strong flavor in his husband’s breastmilk and cum. There’s a weight to life that he could feel on his soul – or maybe that was just the way he interpreted the readings from the floating robot arm. “You’re producing more milk,” he would say, stimulating a breast with his only his hands until a pearl of sweet gooey liquid formed on the tip.

By the next month, the bump is verifiably real. He could feel the slight curve against his own body when Adam rolls into him, and he's always very still when that happens, trying to feel the new baby through the layers of their skin. Adam continued to look unimpressed – or perhaps that was just the nausea showing on his face.

The new baby grows, a balloon expanding with gas; as does Lilly, filled with free spirt and curiosity, running about the house and creating chaos in one spot and then another. Adam chases and cleans up after her – Shiro wishes he wouldn’t. He starts to tire more easily, bogged down by discomfort, and Shiro’s not always fast enough to take Lilly from him before she unknowingly hits his middle.

“This baby is hardier,” Adam would say, only sheepish _after_ something’s hit his precious cargo, defending himself against Shiro’s “I told you so” looks. The shape of his stomach seemed more squarish this time, and displayed signs of activity far earlier than Lilly had. They use the old ultrasound machine and observe a small little peanut of a fetus, which seemed to dismay his husband, who staunchly felt that its size “hardly seemed to match his weight gain”. But until their actual obstetrician makes it back to Earth, there was nothing more they could do to figure this one out.

Next thing is that Uncle Keith, the last person anyone would expect to make any sort of comment towards child-rearing in general, goes “You really do love my brother,” first thing to Adam when he visits them with a box of rare alien wine. 

When their obstetrician finally makes his house call, he’s greeted by stubborn, alien-like protrusions sticking out of Adam’s middle, so active the whole of the night before that Adam had barely gotten a wink of sleep, and was grumpy as a result. Coran squeezes gel onto the highest peak and uses the ultrasound to rub gently at it, trying to coax it back down. Though the gesture is unreciprocated and Adam’s stomach fluctuates wildly in retaliation. His husband rolls his eyes and shoots Shiro a dirty glare. 

Shiro can't help but smile back, all his heart on his face. It almost always gets Adam to roll his eyes a second time. He knows a helpless yet affectionate puppy-eyed smile isn't exactly the kind of reaction he's seeking, but love is never the wrong answer. Not in this house.  

“I see,” says Coran, mapping out the bottom half of Adam's stomach so that they could see the full-length of a fetus resting at the base. Then he drags the ultrasound over to the upper hemisphere. The image of what is unmistakably a different fetus, resting in a completely different orientation than the first one, shows up on the screen. This is the active one, squirming about on-screen and inciting a wave of motion across Adam’s skin in real-time.

Shiro's mouth is a little frozen now, and the man that had dared to look Adam dead in the eye a minute ago is nowhere to be seen. 

“Your discomfort is the result of your babies developing at a faster rate than your body can expand. I feel sure I don't even have to tell you this, as well-read as you are, but there's no need to worry about running out of space - the human body can do amazing things, and there will always be room - eventually! The twins will get along just fine in your stomach, you'll see...” 

As he said that, a “twin” label pops up on the screen around the second fetus, assuring that they had not misheard him. 

“Dear god,” Adam says, fingers in Shiro’s hand turning into a death-grip.

“Congratulations!” Coran chuckles. “Let me look around for a third one, just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear readers, for supporting this fic from beginning to end! 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait for the finale - but then again, that's what a full-term pregnancy is!


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